A Million Holes Poked In The Soul - Part Three
by mykelara
Summary: This is the conclusion of "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul". It's the final part that deals with the Sandbrook case aftermath and leads up to Alec Hardy coming to Broadchurch. Reading Part One & Two is strongly recommended as this story is a direct continuation.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Dear Readers – this is the final part for what has turned into the saga of Alec Hardy's life before he showed up in Broadchurch. It is a continuation of Part One  & Two and it is highly recommended to have read those. This story takes us onto the final stretch, depicting the aftermath of the Sandbrook case and how Alec Hardy ends up coming to Broadchurch (and of course stealing Ellie Miller's job – knob!)

This story is dedicated to HAZELMIST who shares my issues with letting go of Alec... I will be eternally grateful for all your support in this past year. This is for you, darlin'. You're a star!

* * *

 **A Million Holes Poked In The Soul – Part Three**

 _For all of the loved ones gone_  
 _Forever's not so long_  
 _And in your soul_  
 _They poked a million holes_  
 _But you never let them show_  
 _Come on its time to go_

 _And you already know_  
 _Yet you already know_  
 _How this will end_

Devotchka _– "How It Ends"_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

 _June 2012_

It had been over a month since Alec Hardy, possibly soon-to-be former Detective Inspector, had left Sandbrook to stay with his friend Duncan in Cardiff. Besides his doctor appointments, he didn't have many reasons to return. He was currently on leave, awaiting his Directorate of Professional Standards hearing that finally would take place this week, now that his health had improved. Duncan and Geena had made him participate in a cardiac rehab program, and although he would never admit it, he was feeling better. The number of arrhythmia episodes was decreasing, and it had been a week since he last had passed out.

Emily Abbott was pleased and Hardy was scared. Recovery had not been part of the plan. The other day, Duncan had asked if he'd put any thought into what his next steps might be. Hardy had sat there and blankly stared ahead. The concept of a next step was hard to wrap one's mind around when one was convinced that death was part of the equation. Duncan had gently suggested to find a place to live. Hardy's temper didn't deal well with that. After accusing Duncan of wanting to get rid of him, he had stormed out of the room, only to collapse in the hallway. When he had come to, Geena had sent an exasperated Duncan away. She then had sat down an equally exasperated Hardy and had talked some sense into him. In the end, they had agreed that he'd stay with them until the DPS hearing would bring clarity as to where his career was taking him.

A handful of times, Hardy had visited the house that Tess and Daisy still called their home. Reluctantly, he had collected his belongings, making sure not to bump into his soon-to-be ex-wife. Tess couldn't file for the divorce fast enough. She had beat him to it, mostly because he couldn't bring himself to go forward with it. He had left it all to Geena who had carefully indicated that Tess wasn't as reasonable as Geena hoped she'd be. Hardy didn't care about money or their shared assets. The only thing he cared about was Daisy. Geena had given him a bollocking and reminded him that he might need some financial security if he wasn't going to be able to hold down a job due to his heart condition. He had mumbled something about a pension, having no idea what that really meant. When she had mentioned child maintenance and that he might not have to pay much if he was medicalled out, he had lost it. How could she dare imply he wasn't going to help support his daughter? He wasn't having any of it, insisting on doing his part.

A week after Duncan's push for him to get back to a more regular life, Hardy found himself on a train to Sandbrook. His small bag contained most of his belongings, a wad of papers for the realtor, and the letter with the order to appear in front of the DPS committee.

His phone buzzed and jolted him out of his brooding thoughts. He squinted at the text message that was a reply to a question he had asked Daisy the day before. She agreed to meet him for lunch. _Better late than never_ , he thought, consoling himself. It was a feeble attempt to ignore the fact that it had barely been a month since he'd left and his daughter was already pulling away from him.

* * *

Hardy sat in the corner of Mary's Tearoom and eyed the entrance anxiously. Daisy was running late and he feared she might not show up at all. He hadn't seen her in a few weeks now. Not a day went by when he didn't miss her though. He'd sent her messages, and they occasionally talked on the phone, but it wasn't the same.

The door flew open and Daisy barged in. She was laughing and waving goodbye to one of her friends outside. Hardy's face brightened up at the sight of his beautiful girl. She turned, and when she saw him, she smiled and bounced over. He stood and stole a quick hug from her before she wiggled out of his embrace.

"Oi, Dad! Too much. We are in public," she groused and plopped down on the chair opposite him.

Hardy grinned and trailed his tea cup with his fingers.

"So, how's school?" he began, waiting for her to scold him that he really should think of a better way to start a conversation with her. She fell for it, and Hardy hid his amusement while Daisy complained about his impossible social skills. When she noted his barely concealed smile, she stopped.

"Oh, look at you, you're trying to be funny," she exclaimed and whacked him on the arm. He shrugged with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and sipped his tea. He peered over the rim of the cup, taking her in. She appeared older, but then he always thought that when he hadn't seen her in a while.

"Stop staring, Dad," she muttered and ducked her head behind the menu.

"Sorry," he sighed and dropped his gaze. His fingers found the sugar packets which didn't provide sufficient distraction from the anxiety within.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked shyly. Her wide eyes met his and he nodded. For once, it wasn't a lie. "You've got color in your face. Whatever Geena is feeding you, you seem to like it."

"Why would you say that?" he wondered. The gaunt face that greeted him every morning in the mirror was still a stranger to him.

"'Cause your cheeks have filled in and you don't look like a ghost any more," she stated with an air of indignation that she reserved for those moments when he was acting daft.

Emily had said the same when he had seen her that morning. She had the numbers to back-up her statement, showing that he had indeed gained some weight and that his heart function had improved, returning to near normal. His excitement over the good news had been subdued.

"When are you coming back?" Daisy wanted to know like every time they talked.

Up until now he'd been evasive, but today he couldn't avoid the topic any longer. Fine pearls of sweat pooled on his forehead, and the uncomfortably fast pace of his heart fueled the tension that was clenching up his stomach. He had an appointment with a realtor the next day to find a flat of his own. The DPS hearing was scheduled for later that week. From what Baxter had indicated, he'd had a good chance of staying on the force, especially as his health seemed to be improving. Baxter had joked about plan B, and Hardy had been ready to hang up the phone.

"Dad! Focus!" Daisy barked at him, exasperated with his easy distractibility.

"Sorry," he muttered, shaking off the desperate feeling of no way out that plagued him whenever someone brought up plan B.

"Erm… I might be moving into a flat soon." Her eyes widened, and he added hastily, "Here, in Sandbrook."

"Oh." She was less enthusiastic than he would have expected. She flicked a few crumbs off the table and chewed on her lower lip. She didn't look at him, when she asked, "So, no chance that you're _really_ coming back?"

His heart stuttered. Leaning against the wall, he surreptitiously took in a few steadying breaths. He crossed his arms and his eyes drifted to the ceiling. What was he going to say to that? Tess had refused to consider a legal separation and had immediately aimed at a divorce.

"Daisy, I –" he broke off at a loss for the right words.

"Can I come live with you?" The hopeful spark in her eyes was more than Hardy could bear. He passed a hand over his stinging eyes, trying to buy himself some time to come up with a good explanation.

"It's not a good idea. I won't have a big enough place and –"

"You're not going to have a room for me there?" she cut him off, the hurt apparent in her voice and face.

 _Shit._ Why did he have to fail so miserably in finding the right words for her to understand? _Because you're a bloody liar_ , he answered his silent question.

"That's not what I meant."

She huffed and forcefully crushed a bigger crumb of some discarded pastry under the tip of her index finger.

Truth be told, he couldn't afford a bigger place that would have two bedrooms. At least not close enough to her school so that she could walk. His head hung low, and he wrung his clasped hands. He was a failure as a parent. He couldn't give his own child a place to live because he couldn't even drive her to school from the area where he might be able to wing a two bedroom flat. He hated what he had become.

"Mum thought you might stay with Duncan and wouldn't get your own place," Daisy revealed out of the blue when the silence had dragged on too long.

Hardy's eyes whipped up and fixed on her scowling face. "Why would she –" he broke off when it dawned on him what Tess might have been thinking. The same as he had – he wouldn't need one.

He sighed deeply and reached over the table to still Daisy's nervous hand that continued to chase the leftover pieces of something long gone by. "Darlin', I love you and I'm not abandoning you. I want to stay in your life."

"It doesn't look like that," she interjected angrily.

Hardy's jaw twitched. "It's been very complicated, Daisy," he continued unconvincingly. "I can't give you what you need right now. I can't make that home that your mother can provide. For many reasons. My life's a bit up in the air right now and until things settle I –"

"I don't give a fuck about any of this, Dad. All I want is my family back!" she shouted at him and ripped her hand away. Her face had reddened with the violent fury that was shaking her and him up. He didn't even think to chide her for the foul language. A flutter in his chest told him he should be taking his pills to withstand the onslaught of her grief and anger. He sneaked his hand into his pocket and fumbled two of them out of the blister pack. His fingers curled around them, concealing them in his lap.

"Why can't you and Mum talk to each other and figure things out?" she demanded. "Or maybe we could all live together in the same house. You could be friends, right?" Her tone rapidly deteriorated from angry to desperately pleading and her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Hardy cupped his mouth, not only to place the bitter pills on his tongue, but also to curb his own emotions. He was about to gag down his medication, when she said,

"It's not like you guys are seeing someone else."

He choked and sputtered the tea he had been sipping to help wash down the chalky taste. Coughing violently, he croaked, "No."

It nearly took him down, but for the sake of his daughter, he held onto consciousness and life. When everything around him stopped blurring, his gaze focused on her frightened face.

"'M fine. Just swallowed the wrong way."

Her searching eyes narrowed, and Hardy had to put a lot of effort into convincing himself that she hadn't picked up on his slip. She didn't inquire further though, having something else on her mind.

"Why did you leave us, Dad?" she asked quietly.

"I didn't leave you, I left your mother," he blurted out harshly, before his addled brain could censor his comment.

Daisy's eyes grew big. "So it was _you_ who decided to break it up," she whispered hoarsely.

 _Fuck._ He'd messed up. Or maybe it was good that she thought he was to blame. After all that was the whole point of all of this; for Daisy and Tess to keep their relationship intact. Who gave a bloody shit about where he would fit in? Unfortunately his crummy heart did. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyeballs to make the pain go away. It didn't work. His arms fell limply to his side. Tipping his head back, he opened his eyes.

Daisy was gone.

Hardy stared at the empty chair. His warring emotions were hidden behind that stoic mask that he'd learned to perfect in the past weeks. Then he got up slowly, feeling older than when he'd walked into Mary's Tearoom. He sneaked out before Mary could rope him into a conversation or try to feed him. It was raining, but Hardy didn't care. He was drowning anyway.

* * *

The key felt wrong in his hand. It was bigger than his old house keys. Reluctantly he slid the clunky piece of metal into his coat pocket, after locking the door to his new flat.

He moved in the day that he'd signed the papers. It was a small place, furnished as he didn't have anything of his own. By most standards it wasn't horrible. Sun fell through the kitchen window in the morning and in the afternoon into the small sitting area. There was a table with four chairs, a modern sofa opposite a TV, a sterile bedroom with a small double bed, and a squeaky clean bathroom. He'd saved on the garage as he wouldn't be needing one. It was close enough to the constabulary that he could walk if he should be so lucky to stay on the force.

He had been right in his assumption that he couldn't afford even a one bedroom flat in the desirable area around Daisy's school. He had tried, but when he took into account the issue of transportation to the police station, it became very clear that it wouldn't work. It had taken him a day to come to terms with that, brooding in his hotel room. He'd nearly been desperate enough to call Tess and beg her to reconsider the ridiculous amount of child maintenance payments she'd negotiated in exchange for fully shared parental responsibilities. He didn't though, clinging on to whatever sliver of self-respect he still had.

The next morning, he had called the realtor, and they had found something that was suitable. Half a day later, he forced a smile onto his face when the young spunky agent handed him a pen to sign the lease. A hearty handshake and an overly enthusiastic "You'll love this place" was all that separated Hardy from the immediate loneliness he felt when the door fell shut behind him.

He picked up his bag and took it to the bedroom. He put it down and zipped it open. As he had nothing better to do, he started putting his clothes away. When he reached the bottom of the bag, he froze. The purple unicorn smiled at him, mane fluffy and sticking up in all directions. Slowly, he lowered his tired body onto the bed. His fingers brushed over the soft toy. He quickly pressed it against his aching chest, taking in the scent that reminded him of laughter, warmth, and love. Then he hid it away. Not because he was ashamed to have a stuffed animal in his bedroom as a grown man, but because he couldn't bear the constant reminder of what he'd lost.

* * *

Baxter took him out to dinner the night before Hardy's DPS hearing, as always concerned about feeding his friend. They spent a quiet meal together, with mostly Baxter talking. He didn't mention a lot about his own encounter with the internal affairs officials, although he let on that he'd been reprimanded for his actions. Hardy's discomfort over the idea that he had gotten Baxter into trouble spoiled his meager appetite.

Baxter dropped him off, refusing to let him take a taxi.

"So, this is your new place then?" Baxter asked before Hardy could fold his lanky body out of the car.

"Aye." Hardy was as monosyllabic as he'd been the entire evening.

Baxter cocked his head. "And? How is it?"

"It's clean," Hardy stated drily.

"Seriously, Alec? It's clean? You can't come up with something better than that?"

"It's spotless?" Hardy smirked.

Baxter's eyebrow went up, but then he smiled. "I missed you, you bloody knob."

Hardy's ears heated up. "So did I," he admitted quietly. "Ed, can I ask you something?"

"No," Baxter replied, as solemn as one could be.

"What?" Hardy's head snapped around. His gaze came to rest on Baxter's contorted face. He was biting his lip in order not to burst out in laughter. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

Hardy groaned. He couldn't tell who was worse to endure – Baxter or Duncan.

Baxter chuckled briefly, but then turned serious. "What did you want to ask?"

"Do they know about the affair?" Hardy's voice was low.

Baxter remained silent for so long that Hardy thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Alec, you know I can't tell you anything until you've had your hearing," he sighed finally.

Hardy nodded and ran his hands down his face. "It's all right. Just thought I –" He stopped in the middle of the sentence when he realized that Baxter was climbing out of the car.

"What are you doing?" he asked puzzled.

"Walking you to your flat," Baxter replied with a broad grin when he held the passenger side door open.

Hardy rolled his eyes. "Don't get your hopes up. Not going to kiss you."

Baxter chortled and gently shoved Hardy towards the entrance of the building. Hardy was protesting that he didn't need to be chaperoned to his bed, but Baxter pretended not to hear him. He followed him faithfully up the stairs and inside the small flat.

"You're right," Baxter said after he had looked around. He swiped his finger over a shelf board. "It is spotless."

Shaking his head, Hardy leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"Ed, why are you here?" he said tiredly.

Baxter plopped on a chair and beckoned Hardy to take a seat next to him.

"Fairbanks is aware of the affair. As far as I can tell, he's the only one though. He was present when MacMillan talked to Tess and Thompson while you were in hospital. I really don't think the others have a clue. Not from the way they were asking questions," Baxter shared slowly.

Hardy frowned. "If Fairbanks knows, then why wouldn't he bring it up?" It didn't make sense to him.

He felt Baxter's gaze resting on him. "Because he also knows the other part of the story, Alec," he said softly.

Hardy's eyes widened. He'd often wondered what had been said between Baxter and MacMillan that had convinced his hardarse Chief to go along with his plan. It had never entered his thoughts that CS Fairbanks had been involved in the discussion as well. His shoulders dropped. If all the people who were deciding his fate knew what really had happened, how could Tess ever get away with any of it? And if she didn't keep her job, then part of this had been in vain.

"Ed, the affair was supposed to be kept quiet. How do we expect DPS to overlook this serious misconduct? It's already frowned upon, even without the dire consequences that this indiscretion had?" Hardy groaned.

Baxter turned in his seat to face Hardy. "Listen, Alec. You can't expect them to turn a blind eye to what happened. We are all in this together, and each of us made different mistakes. We fucked up, that's the harsh truth. This is not a soap opera where magically things get fixed or undone. We have to be accountable for our actions, that's part of our duty as police officers. You are one of the most dedicated people in the force that I've met, and I know you believe in this duty. I would bet that somewhere inside you, you're appalled at what Tess and Thompson did. That part in you needs to find peace, regardless of the very personal nature of this issue. They can't get away with it, not without at least some punishment for their actions." Baxter paused briefly, and Hardy seized the opportunity to speak up.

"I'm not protecting Tess," Hardy stated, desperation roughing up his Scottish accent.

"I know that. And MacMillan and Fairbanks are aware of that too. Unfortunately, in order to keep Daisy out of harm's way, Tess benefits where she really shouldn't. Some people have a problem with that. _I_ have a problem with that," Baxter added with a sigh.

Hardy glared at his friend. "You didn't say anyth –"

"No, I didn't," Baxter cut Hardy off bitterly. "I stuck with the facts and what we agreed upon. I expect you to do the same. No lies, do you hear me?"

Baxter's tone was intimidating enough and Hardy nodded. "No lies, I promise."

He dragged his hands over his face. Moaning, he said, "I wish this was all over. I'm so done."

"You're taking care of yourself, aren't you?" There was a small tremble in Baxter's voice. Their eyes met. Baxter knew him too well for Hardy to hide his loneliness and despair.

"Oh, Alec." Baxter's eyebrows furrowed, and before Hardy could escape he'd been pulled into a tight embrace. "Remember you don't have to be alone. Don't push us away," Baxter murmured into his ear. Hardy nodded against his friend's chest and resisted the urge to do exactly what Baxter had said. Shutting everyone one out was so much easier than facing the pain though. He pulled away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

When he opened his mouth, Baxter shut him up before he could say anything.

"If the words _'m fine'_ are on the tip of your tongue, you might as well not say them. Because I can tell when you're not," Baxter growled at him.

Hardy hung his head and clasped his hands on the table. "What do I do if they discharge me from the police force? Daisy walked out on me yesterday because she thinks I am the one who broke up the marriage. I'm losing her, Ed. And then I have nothing left but my career. Emily said that she thinks we could reassess about the pacemaker in maybe a month or so." He looked up and found Baxter's eyes. "Maybe I could still be a detective if I don't die?"

His desperate plea didn't fall on deaf ears. Baxter smiled and put a hand on his arm. "You know what one of the most astonishing things was that I learned these past months?"

Hardy shook his head, wondering where his friend was going with this. Baxter leaned closer and whispered,

"MacMillan's got a soft spot for you."

Hardy backed away and almost fell off his chair. "What? Impossible," he croaked.

Baxter's smile had turned into a mischievous grin. "She does. Apparently not only since you've played the _'I've-got-a-broken-heart'_ card." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Hardy's incredulous face was bright red. A particularly exaggerated irregular beat of his heart made him flinch.

"Don't die on me just because your boss is sweet on you," Baxter scoffed and patted him on his shoulder. "You're lucky. We've come up with a plan B."

"Plan B?" Hardy wheezed while fishing out his pills.

"Yes. Because your plan A was shit, and if you hadn't tried so hard to succumb to your disease at the time, someone might have actually listened to me in the first place," Baxter retorted with obvious disgruntlement. "Talking about shit... you look awful. Did you sleep last night?"

Hardy barely registered the distraction and shook his head. Baxter raised an eyebrow and sighed. Standing up, he dragged Hardy from his chair to his bedroom and settled him down on the covers. Hardy fought him meekly, but then gave in. He was exhausted. After a month of basically doing nothing, the past two days had taken a lot out of him. And the hearing hadn't even happened yet.

"You know, this gets a bit old, Alec," Baxter muttered under his breath while he maneuvered Hardy under his blanket. Hardy grunted and swatted at Baxter's hand that was trying to unbutton his shirt.

"For god's sake, at least stop being such an obstinate git and let me help you getting undressed," Baxter snapped at him.

"I'm not an invalid," Hardy grumbled.

"No, you're not. But you're a knackered moron who needs reminding that it's okay to tell people when you're not feeling well. You better speak up tomorrow in that hearing if your heart should give you trouble. Last thing we need is me dragging you to A&E again."

Hardy expelled air through his nostrils. "I have no interest in that either." He eyed Baxter, fighting sleep that was claiming him rapidly. "How much do they know about my condition?" He spat the last word as he did so often.

Baxter sat down next to him. "Enough," he replied uncharacteristically monosyllabic. He studied his fingernails intently. Hardy was sure he was holding back, but there was no use in forcing him to reveal things he couldn't. They were already in trouble, no need to add to their list of wrong-doings.

"Ed, I'm sorry you got pulled into this. This case has done so much damage and I –"

"Shut up and go to sleep, Alec," Baxter silenced him. He fidgeted with the blanket until he was satisfied that Hardy's long legs weren't sticking out. Hardy let him fuss, realizing that his friend needed to fix at least one thing if he couldn't fix anything else.

"I'll see myself out. Is 9 A.M. too early to pick you up? We'd have plenty of time for breakfast."

"That's a waste of properly good food," Hardy mumbled half-asleep. The potpourri of pills he'd have to take in the morning to keep his bum ticker in check during the hearing wasn't inspiring confidence in him that he'd be able to hold anything down.

Baxter gave the blanket a last tug. "It's worth a try, Alec," he said softly and turned off the light.

Hardy drifted off to sleep, hoping Pippa's ghost would be kind to him in his first night in his new home. She wasn't. And when he woke, sputtering and sweat soaked, drowning in the river that he'd never left, he cried alone in the dark, fearing what the future might bring.

* * *

 **A/N:** A special Thank You also to LILY_DRAGON who helped with editing. And also a thank you to all readers who have been following so far. I hope the conclusion of this epic saga will live up to the expectations. Always happy to hear from you!


	2. CHAPTER 2

**A/N:** Another apology for a very delayed update. I wrote this about a month ago and then I waffled back and forth about it. A million and one thanks to KTROSE who could not have been more supportive!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

Hardy took his seat on the one empty chair in the room. CS John Fairbanks, the head of the South Mercia Police Constabulary's Department of Professional Standards, nodded as a greeting and proceeded to introduce the other three members of Hardy's disciplinary committee. Hardy had seen all of them around, but had never worked with any one of them. Their names passed by his brain without sticking. He'd briefly met his Police Federation legal representation prior to coming into the room.

Fairbanks cleared his throat and began, "In today's hearing we will discuss the case of Detective Inspector Alec Gavin Hardy. Chief Constable Elizabeth MacMillan asked DPS to investigate the possibility of professional misconduct by DI Hardy. This is closely related to the cases of Detective Sergeant Teresa Marguerite Henchard Hardy and Detective Sergeant David James Thompson which were brought before this committee last week."

Tension was building up inside Hardy. It was hard to resist the urge to wring his hands. He forced himself to place his palms down onto his thighs. While he listened to the formalities, he couldn't help himself but to contemplate how on earth he'd ended up in this room. Cursing Tess, Thompson, and the whole bloody world, he briefly closed his eyes and took in a steadying breath. He'd wanted to be part of this. Didn't mean though that he didn't hate it. His entire career he'd believed in the code of conduct and upheld it to his best conscience. Not once had he imagined being involved in the loss of crucial evidence that could possibly lead to a child murderer walking free. His shoulders stooped under Pippa's immeasurable weight that tugged on his arms. His throat was closing off and before he knew it, a half-choked cough escaped from his clenched jaw.

"DI Hardy? Are you all right?" Fairbanks inquired sharply.

Hardy looked up, realizing that they'd been talking to him, but he hadn't been hearing a single word.

"'M fine. Sorry," he mumbled. Fairbanks squinted at him, doubt written all over his face. " _'_ _M_ _fine_ ," Hardy emphasized, straightening his slumped shoulders.

 _Focus,_ he ordered himself.

"DI Hardy, the accusations brought forth against you are in violation of Police Conduct statutes of _'Duties and Responsibilities'_ , _'Fitness for Duty'_ , and _'Discreditable Conduct'_. We will proceed with presenting the case."

Hardy stared ahead blankly, nevertheless listening attentively to what they had to say. Baxter hadn't let on to what had happened at Tess' and Dave's hearings or his own.

"On May 3rd of this year, DS Henchard and DS Thompson conducted a car search related to the homicide of Pippa Gillespie and presumed homicide of Lisa Newbery. A pendant was found, which was deemed evidence in the case. The two mentioned detective sergeants took custody of the evidence, rendering them responsible for submitting it to the South Mercia forensics' department. The evidence never reached the police station."

Fairbanks paused to ask if there were any questions so far. All members of the committee shook their heads, undoubtedly having heard the same introduction three times already. Hardy passed a hand over his face. _'The evidence never reached the police station'_ – one simple sentence summing up the events that had ruined his life forever.

"According to the case file, the evidence was stolen from a car that was registered under DI Hardy's name. The car was parked in a hotel garage at the time, and the bag with the pendant had been left unattended by the responsible police officers. The case file does not state clearly which officer was accountable at the moment the evidence was taken."

Fairbanks' measured tone couldn't alleviate Hardy's rising anxiety. Lightheadedness settled in and rendered their impassive faces fuzzy. Baxter had urged him to speak up if his heart should decide it wasn't going to be game. The committee was already privy to his condition, there was no need to hide anything. His hand sneaked into his pocket and he pulled out his pills. Fairbanks hadn't let him out of his sight and immediately stopped when he noticed what Hardy was doing.

"DI Hardy, if at any point during this meeting you need to take a break to address health related issues, please let us know," Fairbanks informed him and poured a glass of water. He placed it in front of Hardy, adding, "Please feel free to take your medication while I continue with the case presentation."

Hardy slowly reached for it, muttered a "Thank you", and swallowed the two big chalky tablets. Then he dropped his gaze, ears burning with embarrassment. He hated what he had become.

"According to DS Henchard's statement she had informed her superior, DI Hardy, via a phone call that the evidence had been found. DI Hardy was not present during the car search. He had delegated the supervision of the team to DS Henchard. According to CS Edward Baxter's statement, DI Hardy had been placed on medical leave the day prior, after requesting the day off for an urgent surgical procedure."

Hardy blinked. He'd asked himself countless times what would have happened if he had been there. Or how different it could have been if he'd had the courage to tell his wife about his condition, and Baxter could have supervised the scene instead of her. It was a futile route to go down, but he had nothing better to do than to torture himself and wallow in the guilt over his decision to abandon his duty on that day of all days.

"DI Hardy as the SIO on the case and supervising officer assumed full responsibility for the loss of the evidence. The purpose of this hearing is to determine the extent of his involvement and recommend disciplinary actions to be taken accordingly," Fairbanks concluded the opening.

Another member of the committee took over. She was the only woman, and Hardy had already forgotten her name.

"DI Hardy, could you please clarify your whereabouts on the day of the car search?"

It took Hardy a long time to answer. Baxter had made it very clear to him that he couldn't hide behind the rumor they'd been spreading. The public could think whatever they wanted, but under no circumstances was Hardy to lie in this hearing if he wanted to have a chance to continue his career.

Slowly, he began, "Erm… I spent most of the day in hospital. I left from there in the afternoon to go home and recover from the procedure."

"Did you know about the ongoing car search?" she continued.

"Yes. I was informed by DC Swenson in the early morning hours that we had tracked down the car and that the team was expecting to take physical possession of it shortly." He paused and took in a deep breath. "I… I had delegated the supervision at the scene to DS Henchard."

"DI Hardy, DS Henchard is your wife. Was she aware of your need to undergo this emergency medical intervention?" one of the male committee member joined in the questioning.

"No," he replied quietly.

"Did she question why you wouldn't supervise the search yourself?"

Hardy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn't sure why they were interested in these details.

"Erm… It was early in the morning. I told her I had a doctor's appointment. She didn't think much of it as far as I remember."

"Did she express any concerns about needing a senior officer at the scene?"

Hardy scoffed at the idea of Tess ever admitting that she'd needed a senior officer with her. "No. Why would she? She's more than capable of conducting a car search. In fact, she prefers to work on her own."

"I see." There was a satisfied undertone in the detective's voice that Hardy recognized from being on the other side of the interrogation room table. He must have inadvertently given them something they had wanted to hear.

"Did you notify CS Baxter that DS Henchard was in charge?" the woman took over again.

"Yes. I had called him before I spoke to my wi… erm to DS Henchard." Hardy was annoyed at himself for the slip up.

"Did he offer to supervise?" she said, her tone deliberately neutral.

Hardy fidgeted with his trousers. He didn't want for Baxter to get into trouble.

"DI Hardy, please answer the question," the detective who had probed about Tess ordered him. Hardy suspected that he had been assigned the role of _'Bad-Cop'_.

"Yes, he did."

"But?"

Hardy dropped his gaze. He hated himself for having dragged Baxter into his mess. "Erm… I needed someone to come to the procedure with me. CS Baxter was aware of the fact that I had not told my wife. He offered his help to accompany me."

Baxter had already gone through his hearing and reassured Hardy that he had been completely frank about the role he had played. That didn't make Hardy feel any better though. He still had to rat out his friend who was only collateral damage in this disaster.

"So none of you were available to supervise the scene?" Bad-Cop sought clarification. Hardy knew that this was one of the things they had reamed Baxter for. There was only so much he could do to ameliorate the harm.

Hardy looked up. "Not in person. CS Baxter was reachable by phone while I was undergoing the procedure."

"Do you trust DS Henchard?" the other male detective who had been quiet so far chimed in.

Hardy's eyes widened. He bit his tongue before he could blurt out _'I used to'_. He swallowed hard and then replied hesitantly, "I trusted her at the time to be capable of executing the task she had been given. In retrospect, this might have been an error of judgment on my behalf." His bitterness wasn't lost on the committee.

"Did you trust her because she is your wife or because of her skills as a detective?" Bad-Cop lived up to his expectations and Hardy recoiled inside.

How was he supposed to answer that question? Tess had disappointed him on both counts, and it was killing him. In fact, it already had. His hand found its way to his ear, tugging nervously on his lobe.

"I've always had confidence in DS Henchard's abilities as a detective. Can I entirely exclude that some of my trust and attitudes towards her are influenced by the fact that she is my wife? No, I can't. But then I think rarely anyone would be able to distance themselves that much."

Bad-Cop narrowed his eyes and scribbled something on his notepad. There was a brief pause in the flow of the interview, some glances were exchanged, and then Fairbanks gave the female detective a nod to go on.

"DI Hardy, do you recall at what time DS Henchard notified you of the discovery of the pendant?" she inquired.

"Not precisely. It must have been late afternoon. She rang me when I was on my way home from the hospital." The memory was painful. It had been such a blissful moment of relief, only to be destroyed mere hours later.

"Do you remember what was said?"

Hardy straightened in his chair. They were getting closer to the real issue at hand. "She told me that she had found Pippa's pendant and that preliminary forensics indicated that Ashworth's fingerprints were on it. I ordered her to take the evidence back to HQ without any delay to process it further."

"Did she acknowledge the order?"

He hesitated for a few heartbeats. "Yes, she did." His answer sealed Tess' fate in regards to subordination and disregarding direct orders, no matter what else the hearing might result in.

"DI Hardy, the car that your wife drives is registered under your name, isn't it?"

"That's correct."

"The case file states that the car from which the evidence was stolen was registered under your name. However, it does not indicate who was driving the car that day. Your documentation on this point is uncharacteristically vague. Everything else is described to the minutia, but not this detail. Can you please elaborate on the reason why this would be the case?"

The female detective scrutinized him intently. Hardy looked her straight in the eye when he answered, "I'd rather not. However, I can assure you the documentation in the file is correct."

"I'm afraid that's not good enough, DI Hardy. Why did you not indicate that your wife, DS Henchard, was using said car that day?" Bad-Cop didn't let him get away with it.

Hardy squirmed, but stayed mute. Baxter was going to murder him.

"DI Hardy, we know what happened that day. There is no reason to hold back the facts. The question that this committee has is about the motivationbehind the cover up," Fairbanks said, getting involved for the first time since the introduction.

Hardy's gaze flicked from one person to the next. It wasn't clear to him if the others had been told about the affair, or if it was only Fairbanks who was aware of his humiliation. The feeling of being trapped with no way out was growing. His tie was choking him, worsening his struggle for air.

"We know that DS Henchard and DS Thompson stopped at a hotel and parked the car in the garage," Fairbanks continued. Hardy's breath hitched, waiting to hear those words that would mark him as a cuckolded husband.

"We also know that the evidence was left unattended in the backseat and was subsequently stolen. It is clear from your own account that you were nowhere near that hotel. Yet, the pervasive story in the hallways is that you met your wife at the hotel, she gave you her car, and you failed to properly guard the vital evidence. You have publicly assumed responsibility for this debacle. Why?"

If they had wanted to bring up the affair, this would have been the time. Hardy searched Fairbanks' face. Curiosity was mixed with something else that Hardy had difficulty identifying. He assumed it was pity, considering that Fairbanks knew what Tess and Thompson had been up to in that hotel. He did his best to ignore the anger and shame that was boiling hot in his stomach. Pity was the last thing he needed from anyone, and certainly not from the person who was going to decide his fate.

Trying to stay calm, he inhaled deeply. "I was SIO on the case and therefore all mistakes fall on me. It happened under my watch," he muttered while letting out all air from his tight chest.

The detective who had only spoken once so far stirred in his seat.

"I'd say that's exactly what did _not_ happen," he stated with a raised eyebrow. Hardy shot him a piercing glance. "You failed to supervise your team properly or provide substitutes for adequate supervision. As a matter of fact, you distracted your own superior from being present at the scene."

Hardy crumpled. His shoulders dropped and his arms fell between his legs. Hanging his head, he confessed, "You're right. I failed. I failed my team. I failed the families of those poor girls. And I failed the trust that has been placed into me as a police officer." He lifted his gaze and let it wander over all four committee members. "That's precisely why I feel strongly about being responsible for what happened. Even if I wasn't there. Or maybe better put, _because_ I wasn't there."

He meant what he'd said. The guilt over his decision to undergo the procedure that day had been gnawing on him, ever since he had recovered enough to be able to think more clearly. If he had waited only a few days longer, none of this would have ever happened. He only had himself to blame.

"So, this has nothing to do with you trying to protect your wife, but with your noble interpretation of your obligations as detective inspector and lead investigator?" Bad-Cop challenged him.

Hardy sat there and stared ahead, his eyes burning. "No. I'm not protecting my wife."

 _Only my child_ , he finished the sentence in his mind. He was deflated and exhaustion was creeping up on him.

They were not done with him yet.

"DI Hardy, since May 3rd when CS Baxter placed you on medical leave, you have not returned to active duty. We fully recognize that you have a right to privacy regarding details of your health problem," the female detective began with the topic that Hardy would have preferred to ignore.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. His heart skipped a few beats purely to mock him. He'd discussed this with his Federation representative, and unfortunately in his case, any disciplinary hearing had every right to dig into his medical history. He was lucky they hadn't made him go see the chief medical officer.

"However, as it has been put into question if you were fit for duty, we see ourselves forced to discuss the issue in front of this committee. Especially as it relates directly to the events of May 3rd of this year. The accusation has been raised that you were concealing the fact that you were facing a serious physical threat to your capabilities of leading a major homicide investigation," the female detective continued as expected.

She paused briefly and consulted the file folder in front of her. Hardy's gaze drifted to the ceiling, defiantly awaiting his fate. There wasn't any question that he'd violated the code of conduct with his stubborn insistence on finishing the case. It had led to nothing good.

"DI Hardy, can you in your own words describe your medical problem?" she asked.

Hardy's answer was curt. "I have a heart condition."

"And?" she prompted further explanation.

"Erm… it beats irregularly," he added equally tersely.

Four faces looked at him with varying degrees of annoyance. Fairbanks rubbed his eyes with his fingers and Hardy pictured him groaning inside. The woman lifted her eyebrow and pursed her lips. The quiet one shook his head ever so slightly. Bad-Cop turned bright red.

"Seriously?" he snapped at Hardy. "Care to elaborate on that? You realize that you're testing our patience here with this particular subject."

Fairbanks shot Hardy a pleading glance, willing him to be more cooperative.

"Fine. It's an arrhythmia." He pulled out the pills and tossed them on the table. "Treatable with medications."

"How serious is this condition? Is it life-threatening?" Bad-Cop demanded to know.

"Possibly," came Hardy's monosyllabic answer.

"DI Hardy, please stop playing games with us," the other male detective cut in. "CCTV of the police station captured you entering your office at 8:07 P.M. the evening of May 3rd. You met your wife there. After she had left, it shows you stumbling through CID, clearly afflicted by something. You then enter CS Baxter's office. Footage of the next morning shows CS Baxter leading you, or more precisely, dragging you out of the office. From the review of those recordings it is apparent that you were either completely drugged or very unwell that morning. And then you disappeared for about a week."

Hardy balled his hands into fists. He'd forgotten about the bloody tape.

"It is in your own best interest to come clean and disclose the full extent of your heart condition. This is a confidential hearing. Nothing will leave this room besides what needs to be shared with your current superiors. And as far as we can tell, they already know anyway," Fairbanks assured him.

Hardy looked into their stern faces. He had led interrogations enough times to know when the suspect had lost. There was no use in denying it any longer. In a way, it was a relief. Lies had been destroying his life and it had to end somewhere. Most likely it wouldn't matter in the long run.

"So, what happened that evening, DI Hardy?"

He closed his eyes when he told them.

"My wife had called me in to report the loss of the pendant. Earlier that day, I underwent a cardiac catheterization with the intention of placing a pacemaker. It failed. I was recovering at home when my wife asked me to come to the office. I probably shouldn't have, but she was upset, and I wanted to support her. Due to the stress that my heart had already been under that day, the somewhat shocking news about the loss of the evidence triggered an attack of the arrhythmia. By the time CS Baxter found me in the morning, I was very ill. He took me to the hospital. I spent about a week there, after needing resuscitation due to a cardiac arrest."

His heavy breaths were the only sound in the room. He was shivering and he clasped his trembling hands tightly together. The silence dragged out, until Bad-Cop broke it.

"Since when do you have this heart condition?" His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to his previous stand-offish behavior. Hardy opened his eyes, intrigued by the change. Bad-Cop's expression was as kind as his words had sounded.

Hardy cleared his throat. "Erm… apparently I was born with it. Didn't find out though until a couple of weeks before the investigation began."

Bad-Cop tilted his head. "What was your plan of disclosing this issue to your superiors?"

Hardy sighed. "I found out at the beginning of April. I'd been out for a few days. When I returned to work, I had intended to tell CS Baxter on a Monday and ask off to take proper care of the problem. Then we received the call about the girls on Sunday. At first, we assumed it was a kidnapping or missing person case. I presumed I could hold off because I wasn't as affected at that point. When we were faced with a possible double homicide, I felt obligated to finish the case."

"Why did you feel obligated to finish the case?" Bad-Cop wanted to know.

Because Pippa's ghost was driving him to. Hardy ignored the thought and shrugged. "Wouldn't you have?" His answer wasn't really one, but he didn't even know where to start explaining his actions. Not everything made sense, even to him.

"Hm," Bad-Cop hummed pensively and paused for a moment. Then he leaned forward on the table, clasping his hands. "In your honest opinion, was there anyone better qualified in CID than you to lead the investigation? And please, no false modesty here," Bad-Cop continued, scrutinizing him.

Hardy's pale complexion pinked up, betraying his self-consciousness. In the end, honesty won over humbleness.

"No."

"Is it correct that all substantial leads were discovered by you and that all the key statements were obtained by you?" Bad-Cop inquired quietly.

Hardy had never viewed it in that light, but looking back, it rang true. He nodded and muttered, "Aye."

Bad-Cop leaned back on his chair, scribbling a few things on his notepad. Then he returned his attention back to Hardy.

"How did CS Baxter find out about your health problem?"

Hardy suppressed a groan and wondered if they'd seen that video as well. "He observed an interview that I was conducting. I wasn't feeling well and it showed. He called me out on it. I was very… reluctant to give him the full picture and it took several days for him to have a clear idea about what was going on."

Hardy hoped this would help his friend and not hurt his position even more. "At one point he'd decided to take me off the case, and I had agreed to it. That was three days before the car search, the day we got the arrest warrant for Ashworth."

"You stayed on the case though. What happened?"

Hardy's eyes met Bad-Cop's. "He trusted me to know when to stop and ask for help. I betrayed that trust as well," Hardy admitted with a hollow voice.

Bad-Cop held his gaze steadily. The empathy that he displayed after biting his head off earlier puzzled Hardy.

"What made you decide to have the procedure done that day and not wait until the investigation had concluded? You had already arrested Ashworth. Why not hold off?"

Hardy's lips curled up to a wry smile. Emily's stern face flickered through his mind. "My cardiologist threatened to kick me out if I didn't do it. She gave me an ultimatum."

To Hardy's surprise, Bad-Cop smiled knowingly and pulled up his eyebrow.

"I see. She must have been sufficiently worried then. Did she ever recommend for you to go on leave?"

"Yes. Multiple times," Hardy sighed, acknowledging his blatant violation of the code of conduct.

"And you ignored her advice?" Bad-Cop asked. Hardy nodded. "Why? It appears to be a rather serious problem," Bad-Cop added softly.

Hardy shifted on his chair. His chest was still tight and he rubbed it unconsciously. The focus of his vision was miles away. "I pulled the girl out of the river. I couldn't let it go," he muttered under his labored breath. Again, silence fell.

When Hardy lifted his head to face them, he caught them staring. He gripped the inside of his thigh tightly and addressed them bravely.

"Not one day goes by that I don't regret many of the decisions that I've made throughout this investigation. My biggest fault was that I couldn't detach myself enough to be more prudent in my actions. It was a mistake to ignore my health issues as it did impair my function as SIO. It was a mistake to undergo the procedure that day. I misjudged my staff and what support they needed. I placed trust in the wrong people."

Their faces were impassive. He swallowed and ploughed on.

"That is why I feel responsible for what happened, even if I never laid my hands on that piece of evidence. But nothing that I did was because I didn't care about my duty as police officer. I wanted nothing more than to get justice for those girl, maybe more than was reasonable."

He paused again, swallowing around the lump in his throat. His voice trembled when he continued with his plea, "I love the work as a detective, I really do. I realize I'm not in a position to ask for anything, but if my health allows it, it would mean a lot to me to stay on the force and in CID."

He let out the breath he'd been holding during his speech. His eyes were stinging. He hadn't come to beg, but the pressure inside, the desperate need to save maybe one little tiny shard from his shattered life had taken over before he could think clearly. The plan that had been born out of his desire to protect his only child was turning into a nightmare. There was no way out which was probably a good thing, because despite his heart being more reliable these past weeks, fundamentally nothing had changed. His chances of surviving the pacemaker insertion were still abysmally low, and there was no guarantee that his next attack wasn't going to be his last.

None of them moved a muscle until Hardy asked if they were done. He didn't expect it, but Fairbanks excused him. As soon as he had left the room, all strength seeped out of him and with it the tension that had been building up. Taking in a shuddering breath, he pulled himself together and found his way to the closest exit. His shaking hands fumbled to open the heavy fire door that led out to the small landing on the police station's roof. The metal door closed with a clanking thud, leaving behind the stifling atmosphere that was threatening to suffocate him. He sagged against the brick wall, sliding down the rough plaster towards the ground. He tugged his legs tight to his chest and rested his tired head on his bony knees. Tears of exhaustion, anger, and frustration dripped down his cheeks. He'd said everything that he had to and maybe more than he should have. His pride and dignity were gone, but at least he hadn't lied. All he could do now was to await his fate.

* * *

 **A/N:** Full disclosure, I am no expert in internal affairs hearings in the UK police force, but I did do some research on it. Hope it works.

A thanks also LILY_DRAGON who always knows how to challenge me.


	3. CHAPTER 3

**A/N:** It's been way too long, but RL has been tough. Thanks for everyone's support and kind words and also for that you're still interested in this part of the story. This turned out to be a way more emotional chapter than planned and maybe that's why it's short because I wanted to end it where it ended. Thank you to HAZELMIST and LILY_DRAGON for reading through it and sharing your thoughts. Your support is invaluable! (See more notes at the end)

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

Hardy was slowly pacing up and down a hallway of South Mercia Police Constabulary's top floor. His left hand was glued to his hip, his right was drumming on his thigh. No one was bothering him in this deserted part of the building which was probably for the better. The last thing he needed were curious eyes and ears to witness his sentencing. From time to time, he eyed the door behind which his superiors were debating his future.

He'd spent the rest of the prior day aimlessly roaming the streets of Sandbrook until he had tired himself out. Baxter had called him multiple times, but Hardy's only answer had been a short text stating that he was fine. Baxter's sarcastic reply hadn't riled him up enough to make the effort to actually talk to his friend and boss. Truth be told, he hadn't been able to face him. Guilt and remorse were overwhelming him and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

By the time he'd returned to his barren flat, his exhaustion had been sufficient enough to put him to sleep as soon as he had lied down on his new bed. Not even his growling stomach had been able to keep him awake, despite having skipped lunch and supper. He'd been up since the wee hours, unable to go back to sleep after Pippa's ghost had woken him. Time had dragged on, and he thought he'd go insane until his afternoon appointment with Chief Constable Liz MacMillan and CS Fairbanks. Baxter wouldn't be there due to his own involvement in the sorry affair.

Hardy had finished another lap. The stabbing pain between his shoulder blades was worsening. Tight as bowstring, he jumped when the door opened and Chief MacMillan stuck her head out. He paused in his restless pursuit, shoving his hands in his pockets. His nails cut his palms when he clenched his fingers into tight fists.

"Hardy, stop running around like a caged animal and get in here," she ordered him roughly.

His heart skipped a few beats, but didn't betray him. He trudged into the same room that his hearing had taken place. CS Fairbanks was sitting where he had been before with MacMillan right next to him. Hardy lingered at the door, unease and tension holding him back.

"Please, DI Hardy, sit," MacMillan pointed graciously at the chair across from the desk. She peered over her rimless glasses, searching his face. He couldn't move. Here he was at the point that was most likely the end of his career, that last tiny bit that was still left over from his shattered life. His brain went blank and refused to give his frozen body the proper commands to take his seat. All he could do was breathe to calm his dangerously racing heartbeat. Sweat was pooling under his suit jacket, and he wished he could loosen the tie that felt like a noose around his neck.

Somewhere it registered that MacMillan was talking to him, but it was all clouded by the panicked haze in his mind. An iron fist clenched around his chest, tighter and tighter, until the hot pain brought stars in front of his eyes. His body finally unfroze and he staggered forward, falling onto the chair. Dizziness claimed his vision, and he wondered if he was going to be sick.

He didn't notice until minutes later that he was breathing into a paper bag. The haze was clearing and he became more aware of the worried faces in front of him. They'd called Baxter. He blinked away the blurriness and was able to fix his gaze on his friend.

"Alec, can you talk?"

"Aye," he wheezed.

"Do you know where you are?"

"'Course I do," he croaked.

Baxter's eyebrow went up doubtfully. "You sure didn't a few minutes ago. Do you need these?" he asked, holding up Hardy's pills. Hardy snatched up the blister pack and shook his head. It hadn't been his heart. He'd had a good old-fashioned panic attack. Surprisingly, his bum ticker hadn't seized the opportunity to go to shit on him.

His gaze fell on MacMillan's pale face. Their eyes met. She couldn't hide her worry and sorrow quickly enough. Baxter had been right, she did have a soft spot for him. Blushing, he lowered his head to hide the emotions that surely were readily displayed in his own expression.

When he looked up again, she was back to her usual self. She loomed over him, her eyebrow arching up toward her defined hairline.

"Apparently, we can't meet these days without you keeling over on me," she commented sarcastically.

Tugging on his earlobe, Hardy glanced at her sheepishly. "'M sorry ma'am," he muttered, feeling hopelessly inadequate.

Fairbanks had been watching the scene, perched on the desk. He unfolded his arms and stood. "DI Hardy, if you're not feeling well enough for this meeting, we can always continue on another –"

"No. Please, can we just get it over with?" Hardy interjected, desperation emphasizing his Scottish accent. His eyes flicked from one to the other, pleading to deliver him from this anxiety that was eating him up.

The three of them exchanged glances. It appeared that Baxter was the authority when it came to Hardy's well-being. Only when he nodded, did the others seem to be comfortable enough to go on. Patting Hardy's shoulder encouragingly, Baxter left him to face his fate.

It was unnervingly quiet in the room. Moments passed, only measured by the irregular thudding in Hardy's chest. Eventually, MacMillan picked up her pencil and Hardy exhaled in relief. It was a sure sign that she was ready to make her move. Soon everything would be over.

"DI Hardy, the DPS committee that is investigating the serious failings in the Gillespie-Newbery murder case has come to a conclusion as far as your involvement is considered and what actions should be taken," she began dispassionately.

Hardy shifted in his chair, clasping his hands tightly. His thoughts tumbled through his mind, faster than he could process them. This was it. The end of his career that he had devoted his life to for over two decades. All the hard work and dedication, all the sacrifices, the countless hours away from home, all the passion and love for his work, all the heartache and despair that he'd fought off for so long – what for? So that one tiny error in judgment could bring it all down and rip away his whole existence, leaving him with noth-

"You will remain in CID at your current rank provided your health allows you to continue working in that capacity."

Hardy's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

He must have heard wrong.

"You will remain as DI in CID as long as your health allows you to work in that capacity," MacMillan repeated calmly and placed her pencil in a perfect ninety degree angle to his file.

Staring wide-eyed at MacMillan's solemn face, he stammered, "But that's impossible... I mean, after all that happened. I'm responsible for the loss of –"

"No, DI Hardy, you're not," Fairbanks interjected sternly. He leaned forward and locked gaze with an even more bewildered Hardy. "We are very well aware that you might be theoretically responsible for what happened to the key evidence. You put an individual in charge who ended up making a grave mistake but was up until then a reliable member of your team. However, that doesn't make you liable for what DS Henchard and DS Thompson did. Their actions are solely theirs to stand for and proper disciplinary measures will be taken."

Fairbanks paused, giving Hardy a chance to take in his words. Then he added warmly, "You shouldn't believe your own lie."

Conflicting emotions were fighting fiercely within Hardy. Relief and something akin to joy was trying to win the upper hand over the fear for his daughter's future. What would happen once he died? If Tess was thrown out, Daisy wouldn't be cared for.

"Please don't discharge DS Henchard from the force," he implored them, his voice rough with his Scottish brogue.

MacMillan's eyebrow went up and her fingers seized the pencil again. "That is all you have to say? You're worried about the person who is at the root of this colossal mess?" She sounded disappointed.

Hardy's gaze flicked back and forth between the two and came to rest on MacMillan. Their eyes met and Hardy was suddenly ten years younger, pleading with her to give him an opportunity to prove himself.

"No, ma'am. That's not all that I have to say –"

"Good," she cut him off, tapping the pencil on his file. "Because I'm in no mood to grant favors to people who don't deserve it."

When was she ever granting favors? Was she now with him? The idea alone made him uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat and soldiered on. "I am grateful for your trust in me. Keeping this job means a whole lot to me and I hope I'll be able to overcome my health related issues."

He took a deep breath before he continued with what could well ruin all his chances of staying on. "I've been recovering this past month and things are looking better, but you and I both know that it might not be possible for me to fulfill the requirements of the position."

It was a dangerous path he was on, but he had no choice if he wanted to protect Daisy as much as possible from the fall out.

"You are also aware of my concerns about my family in case of me not being able to provide for them. Hence my plea to at least keep my wife on staff, even if it's in a different division and rank."

MacMillan's eyes narrowed and her grip on the pencil tightened. "You should leave that to us," she admonished him, deterring from his implication that he might not be around for very much longer.

Hardy ducked his head. "Of course, ma'am. Sorry," he muttered submissively.

He wanted to ask about Baxter but didn't dare. A glimmer of hope had sparked inside him. If they didn't sack him, Baxter might just get away with a stark reprimand rather than serious punishment.

"We have made an appointment with the Chief Medical Officer for you. He will conduct an assessment of your current health status and then give his recommendations," Fairbanks went on.

 _Bollocks_. They might have as well fired him. If the CMO got his hands on him or any of his medical records, he was done for. Chewing on his lower lip, he decided to speak up. "Do I have to go to the CMO? Wouldn't clearance from my own cardiologist be enough?"

MacMillan stabbed the pencil hard onto the table and broke off the tip. "Seriously, Hardy? Running this investigation nearly killed you and you expect us to let you get away with it?"

"It wasn't the investigation but my wife that nearly killed me."

The words slipped out of his mouth before he could hold them back. He froze and felt all blood draining from his face. _Fuckfuckfuckfuck._ Cursing his loose tongue, he wanted nothing but to escape the confinement of the room.

Dead silence fell.

Hardy stared at the dirty carpeting, distracting himself with the futile task to discern if the stain he was captivated by was coffee or tea. He couldn't look at his superiors. He'd revealed too much and there was no way back now. A red high-heeled shoe stepped onto the stain right when he thought he was about to figure it out. He kept his head down, focusing on MacMillan's pristine footwear.

"Hardy, I'm sorry," she said with a softness in her voice that he didn't deserve.

He sucked in some air through the nose and muttered, "'S all right."

He was staring at the tiny scuff on the pointy tip of her red shoe. A hand brushed over his shoulder, and he finally raised his head. The compassion in MacMillan's face was nearly too much to bear.

"No, it's not all right," she countered. "And it's important that someone tells you that so you don't start believing it. Your wife's breach of conduct triggered a shit storm and you got caught in it. However much it hurts though, you mustn't give in. Nothing makes what she did right. You might forgive her at some point, but nobody would blame you if you didn't."

He swallowed hard. Clenching the muscles in his throat, he held back the tears that would render his affirmation that he was fine useless.

MacMillan pulled a chair closer and sat down. She was holding his gaze, not letting him break eye contact. "We all have our parts to play in this sorry game. My role is to protect the case as much as possible and to make sure that you are well enough to do your job. You chose your role and now will have to deal with the consequences. I can't shield you from the reactions that you staying on the force will provoke. Many people readily believed the rumors that Ed Baxter spread skillfully. There will be talk about you."

Hardy huffed. "'S not like I've ever won a popularity contest before," he grumbled.

"This is very different, Hardy. Before, people thought you're a grumpy arse, but they respected you regardless. Now, they think you bungled the case and a child murderer will walk free." Her warning words carried an odd mixture of sorrow and anger.

He pressed his lips to a thin line and dropped his gaze. If that's what it took to protect his daughter, so be it. He'd set things in motion, and there wasn't really a way back unless the truth was to be revealed fully. He couldn't take that risk, fearing that his heart disease would soon lead to his untimely demise.

"Right," he breathed through his gritted teeth. When nobody said anything, he asked, "When's the appointment with the CMO?"

"In two weeks," Fairbanks informed him.

"Two weeks?" Hardy echoed incredulously. He'd been out of work for over a month already and sitting around all day was driving him bonkers.

"That will make it two months from when CS Baxter put you on medical leave. Seems like a reasonable time to assess your condition," Fairbanks elaborated.

"'S not a condition."

"Oh, please, Hardy. Don't start," MacMillan scolded him exasperatedly. "You need to accept that you have a serious medical problem and act accordingly. Nobody is helped by your constant denial of the fact that you have a life-threatening illness, the least of all yourself. Just look where it has led you?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Hardy rolled his eyes back and looked up at the ceiling. He didn't want to admit that she was right. If he wanted to have a chance of preserving at least some parts of his old self, he needed to change his attitude. A nagging awareness that in the end all of this might be in vain wouldn't let him acknowledge the simple truth behind those words. He could die tomorrow. Or not. It was an impossible way to live one's life; the limbo of uncertainty was eating away at him more so than anything else.

"Until the recommendations of the CMO are in, you will stay on paid medical leave," MacMillan began to wrap up their meeting. "If the outcome of his assessment is favorable, you'll stay on as DI in CID. If not, then we'll see."

Hardy nodded. He had no urge to talk. What else was there to say? One thing came to his mind. He found MacMillan's eyes.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said sincerely. "For your trust all those years. I'm sorry I disappointed you." He hung his head in shame. She'd given him a chance and he'd failed her like he had failed everyone else.

MacMillan inhaled sharply, held her breath for a few heartbeats, and then let all air out of her lungs with a quiet groan.

"CS Fairbanks, would you excuse us for a moment?" she demanded.

Fairbanks retreated swiftly, not making any attempt at hiding his curiosity. The door clicked in its lock and Hardy was left alone with a pensive looking MacMillan. She was still sitting next to him, closer than he'd realized.

Her hand came up and hovered over his arm, but she didn't touch him. A warm smile softened her stern features, when she said, "You didn't disappoint me, Alec."

The corner of his mouth twitched at the sound of his name, but he remained silent. She knew why he disliked it so much, having read his psychological evaluation after the shooting in Glasgow. He wondered why she made a point of using it in this very moment.

"Are you familiar with Shakespeare?" she asked a very confused Hardy.

Squinting, he nodded hesitantly. Where was she going with this?

"' _A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly'_ ," she quoted, finally placing her skinny hand gently on his forearm. Her eyes shone when she continued,

"You, my dear Alec, have a good heart. In fact too good if you ask me. Your need to protect the ones you love and the ones who are vulnerable is your strength, but just as much your weakness. It got you into trouble many years ago and it did again so now. You didn't disappoint me. I knew when I hired you that the day would come when you lose your head, but keep your heart, and that it had written disaster all over it."

She expelled some air through her nose. "Granted, I didn't necessarily expect it to be _this_ disastrous, but in a way it doesn't surprise me. Fairbanks let me listen to the tape of your hearing. When they asked you why you felt obligated to finish the case, you answered ' _Wouldn't you have?_ '. To be honest with you, most people in your situation would have chosen their own personal issues over their duty. You didn't, and I know you never would. As you said, you pulled the girl out of the river, and your stupid big heart couldn't let it go, even if it was breaking, figuratively and literally."

Hardy sat there and took in her words, silent tears dripping down his cheeks. She tightened her grip on his arm.

"The only mistake you made was that despite listening to your heart you didn't listen carefully enough. It was telling you all along that it needed help, that it couldn't carry the burden alone. And then it broke..." She stopped abruptly, a quiver echoing through the last syllables.

Hardy cupped her hand with his. The mantle of toughness that surrounded her had slipped off and exposed the soft core she was so dead set on hiding, just like he hid behind his gruffness. Forcing a sad smile, he repeated what he'd said earlier, "'S all right."

Her doubtful eyes urged him to reassure her of something he felt little confidence in himself. "I'll be fine. And if not, then at least I made sure that Daisy will be."

"Oh, Alec," she managed while trying desperately to compose herself. Slowly, she got to her feet, placing her hand on his shoulder. She was short and not much taller than him, even when she was standing up. She looked down on him and Hardy's stomach clenched. He hadn't seen that expression since that fateful night on the cliffs when he was a little boy. The sentiment mirrored on her face answered his question as to why MacMillan had used his first name. Dropping all pretense, she tenderly swiped his fringe away from his forehead and pecked a quick but tender kiss on his forehead.

"Go," she ordered him, her voice carrying nothing of the usual firmness. He clambered to his feet and trudged towards the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught her rubbing her eyes.

"Thank you, Liz. For everything. It means a lot," he said and left her behind to deal with her own matters of the heart.

Like the day before, he hurried to the fire exit and out onto the roof. He'd gotten a second chance. His dodgy ticker was throbbing to his neck, reminding him that he might not be able to make good use of it, but the bleak despair that had been crushing him these days was less suffocating. He inhaled deeply and let out the breath he'd been holding ever since the date of the hearing had been set. The wave of relief nearly towed him under, but he reined in the emotion. Tension was falling off and his body felt too weak to support his weight. He lowered himself to the ground and tucked his knees up to his chest. Tilting his head back against the brick wall, he let the sun bathe his face with its fading rays of light. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. For now, he still had a job.

* * *

 **A/N:** A few comments I would like to make:

1) Liz MacMillan has always been inspired by a certain character in one of my favorite Broadchuch fics "When the Storm Breaks" by hazelmist. I thank the author and my friend for being so gracious of letting me wander down this path. When I write Liz, it's coming from a very similar spot that is touched when I read about Iris. Thank you darling for giving us a character that made me cry the first time I met her. And thank you for the continued inspiration. MHPS wouldn't be what it is without you!

2) I realize that for some it may feel odd for Liz to be so open with Alec, but they are alone and they have a history together, right from the start. I have to admit that certain parts of Alec's work relationships are heavily based on personal experiences where I found support and candid emotional connections with people I would never have thought it possible. It found its way into this story and I hope it's not too unbelievable for the characters (even if Alec is a bit OOC, I don't think he is for my 'verse).

3) If you've read the rest of the Alec saga you know what happened to his mother. Alec still owes Ellie an explanation as to why he doesn't like using his first name and we'll soon get to that in "The Ocean Breathes Salty". Liz knows about it, and it's a very deliberate choice on her behalf to use his first name. It's like a hidden message to him. I know this might not be as clear in the chapter and I feel a bit foolish explaining it (because of course it's sloppy writing if it isn't clear in the actual text – sigh – and yes I'm making excuses), but still I thought I'd mention it because silly me is so stuck in her own had canon that certain things seem very obvious to me where others go like "Huh?". My apologies.

4) I made myself cry in public writing the scene with Liz at the end. Just wanted to let you know that that happened. Totally sobbed in a coffee shop. Duh! Note to self: Do not write emotional scenes where you can't hide quickly.

5) I don't usually go around quoting Shakespeare, but I heard this one and it struck me how much it fit our grumpy detective. It kept popping up in my head until I gave in and used. Forgive me the indulgence. But as Jack Marshall said "It matters – a good heart" – Hardy and his stupid big heart is what makes him tick, figuratively and literally (at least most of the times; well, I guess that's debatable at least my writings. Sigh, I'm incorrigible. Did you notice though – he didn't pass out. LOL).

I'm going to shut up now. Thank you again everyone for reading!


	4. CHAPTER 4

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who is reading, leaving kudos and comments. Thank you to KTROSE for looking it over and a special thanks to LILY_DRAGON whose input was invaluable for the end of the chapter. Baxter and Liz come up with plan B... and someone else also had an agenda.

I rarely do give trigger warnings as I don't necessarily entirely buy into the concept of it – it's not like we go buy a book and get all potential triggers pointed out as it could very well spoil a story – but this time I will. This chapter will mention abortion (see end notes).

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4**

Baxter knocked at Liz MacMillan's office door. It was the day after she had told Hardy that he wouldn't be discharged from the police force.

He didn't get a chance to talk to Hardy because his friend had sneaked out of the station with his phone turned off. Hardy had been dodging him ever since the hearings had been announced, wallowing in his guilt over having dragged Baxter into his mess. Baxter had told Hardy on multiple occasions that he was an adult and had made his own decisions. Nobody had forced him to back up Hardy, and he was man enough to stand for his own actions. They had laid hard into him, and for one moment it looked like he might lose his position, but then the pendulum swung and with it the committee's anger at the real responsible parties. He'd been placed under close observation though for letting Hardy continue to work even after he knew that he was facing a serious health issue. He could live with that, especially as the close observer was Liz MacMillan who was growing soft in her old age.

He entered her room with a poorly hidden grin.

"Don't give me that look, Ed," she greeted him indignantly. "I know what you're thinking."

"And what would that be, ma'am?" Baxter asked innocently.

"That I'm losing my bite evidenced by letting Hardy get away with his shenanigans."

Baxter chewed the inside of his cheek in a feeble attempt to keep a straight face.

"Ugh," she growled, throwing down her pencil and pushing herself out of her chair. "Don't you dare think he's going to get out of this unscathed."

She suddenly stopped in her circular path around her desk, reflecting on what she had said.

"Unscathed is not the word I would use," Baxter supplied the words to her unspoken thoughts.

She had closed the distance between them and stabbed her bony finger against his chest. "Oh, don't be smart with me. You very well know what I mean," she snapped.

Baxter shrugged and took a chair. She hadn't invited him, but somewhere in the recent weeks they'd moved past those formalities. He watched her circle her desk a couple more times.

"Liz, would you sit down, please. You're worse than Hardy," he requested with a sigh.

She glared at him but followed his order. He gave her a few moments to calm herself by rearranging the folders in front of her before he spoke,

"I think I found the person we are looking for," he declared and placed a file on the desk.

MacMillan leaned forward, pulled it closer, and eyed the name. Then her brows scrunched up. "Rebecca Irvine? Is she up for promotion?"

Baxter cocked his head and scratched his eyebrow. "Sort of. She's been a DS long enough and she's taken the appropriate tests and assessments. We had no reason to look into her further when she left for maternity leave."

"Didn't you tell me, you think she's lacking certain people skills?" MacMillan said, quoting his last annual review of DS Irvine.

Baxter sighed. Compared to Hardy she was a saint. But then she was nowhere near as good as he was in the interrogation room. "She gets..." – he struggled to find the right words – "... emotional when questioning suspects. Antagonistic to an unhealthy extent at times." MacMillan's eyebrows flew up, and Baxter hurried to continue, "She's aware of it though and has been working on it."

MacMillan fingered for her pencil and began twirling it absentmindedly. "How long has she been gone for?"

"Since October last year. She is planning on coming back in July."

"So she doesn't have any connection with the case?"

Baxter shook his head. "No. And she also hasn't seen or heard anything that has transpired."

Their eyes fixed on the folder, they brooded in mutual silence. Finally, MacMillan brought up what neither one of them had wanted to discuss.

"She filed three complaints against Hardy while she was his DS. Do you really think either one of them would be willing to work together?"

"Irvine wants this promotion badly. She's been nagging my ear off about it during her whole pregnancy. She even emailed me during her leave. I had hedged my bets with her knowing I didn't have a position to fill. She is not my first choice, but I don't have anyone else."

He paused and balled his hands into fists. Getting angry wouldn't help the situation. MacMillan observed him quietly, hiding behind her stoic face.

"Hardy doesn't get a say in this if he wants to stay on. I'm not taking any risks, not any more," he stated firmly.

"I've made some inquiries with HR and the Police Federation. There are precedents with two DIs in the same CID. It's rare but not unheard of. It is feasible to have a less experienced person working with a more senior officer in a supervisory role. She could handle most of the field work and Hardy can advise."

Their eyes met. It was a shit plan B, but better than Hardy's shit plan A. They both knew it, but what else could they do? Promoting Hardy to a more desk oriented position at this point would have put everything into question. Leaving him to shoulder the full workload of CID would most likely have a detrimental effect on his health. Fairbanks had suggested to bring on a second DI. He'd seen it done before, usually when the performance of an officer was not up to par. As painful as the idea was, it would fit in with the rumors that Baxter had been spreading. He hated the fact that he'd been the source of most of them, but then that was what Hardy had asked for.

"Who is going to tell him?" MacMillan wanted to know.

Baxter groaned and shifted in his chair. When neither one of them volunteered, Baxter fished a coin out of his trouser pocket.

"Loser gets to deliver the news. Heads or tails?" He held it up.

MacMillan rolled her eyes. "This is childish."

Baxter weaved the gold and silver two pound coin through his agile fingers and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You've got a fifty-fifty chance of not losing another few months of your life," Baxter tempted her.

"Ugh, fine. Tails."

The coin flew in the air, glittering in the afternoon sun that was falling through MacMillan's office window. It landed with a clink on the wooden floor, spun to a halt, two pairs of eyes transfixed on it. Baxter sighed. He should have known, he'd never won a coin toss in his whole life.

"Good luck," MacMillan smirked. "I'll send in reinforcement if I don't hear from you in the next days."

Baxter ran his fingers through his hair and blew out air through his nose. Maybe it was for the better that he was the chosen one to share the plan with Hardy. He'd gotten used to reading his friend and hoped he could soften the blow.

A sudden realization hit him and a grin crept up his lips. He stood and looked at MacMillan who scrutinized him suspiciously.

"Something's going on in your head and whatever it is, I don't like it," she said.

Baxter's mouth broadened. "If I get to tell Hardy, you get to tell Irvine."

Her mouth gaped open. "Bloody hell. That wasn't part of the deal," she protested.

"It is now," he announced with glee and made a hasty exit before she could regain her composure and simply order him to do his job. Now all he had to do was hunt down Alec bloody Hardy.

* * *

When Hardy spotted Baxter's car parked in front of his building, he seriously considered turning on his heels and not going home at all. Baxter had the keys to his flat and probably was waiting for him there. It had only been a question of time that his friend would come after him. His behavior was immature, but he didn't know how to confront the elephant in the room. Avoidance seemed as good a tactic as any.

It was late though, and not only did he need to take his medications but also to lie down. He'd been roaming the streets of Sandbrook the whole day, dreading sitting alone in his sterile flat. Sighing, he trudged across the street and up the stairs. He hesitated a split second before unlocking the door. Then he gathered all his courage to face his friend whom he'd let down so profoundly.

The scent of food greeted him before Baxter even showed his face. Hardy's stomach responded with a primordial growl. It had been deprived of any substantial meal since the day prior. Groaning, Hardy tossed his coat on the rack and traipsed into the small kitchen.

Baxter was comfortably lounging on one of the chairs and pulled up the other one when Hardy walked in.

"It's about time you came home. I brought food," he said, pulling up an eyebrow and pointing at the covered plates.

"Some people in this building will start spreading rumors about us, Ed, if you keep doing things like that," Hardy scoffed and plopped down on the vacant chair.

Baxter smirked. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

Hardy rolled his eyes and peeked under the cover, expecting something he probably shouldn't be eating. To his disappointment it was salad.

Baxter huffed. "Ah, now that I bring you rabbit food you're still complaining."

"I didn't say anything," Hardy retorted and stabbed the lettuce half-heartedly with his fork.

"You didn't have to. Your face betrays you," Baxter mumbled between bites of his pasta dish that looked so much more appetizing than Hardy's healthy attempt at Italian food.

Hardy put his fork down and studied his friend. "Why are you here, Ed?"

Baxter shrugged and muttered, "Making sure that you're eating."

"Right," Hardy sighed exasperatedly and returned his attention to his meal.

They ate in silence, Hardy patiently waiting for Baxter to be ready to share why he had come.

"Do you remember Rebecca Irvine?" Baxter asked way too innocently for it to be a conversational question.

"The DS who filed complaints against me three times?" Hardy countered caustically.

Hardy squinted at Baxter's reddening face. Whatever the reason was that he had brought up Irvine, it couldn't be anything good.

Baxter studied his fingernails and continued with as much nonchalance as he was able to muster,

"She's coming back from maternity leave in July. Chief MacMillan and I thought it would be a wonderful idea for her to be your junior DI."

Hardy choked on the shredded carrots he was chewing on. He sputtered and coughed until he was gasping for air. Baxter jumped up from his chair and patted Hardy's back.

Hardy swatted at him, cursing in between his desperate attempts at breathing. "Get your bloody hands off me," he managed and staggered to his feet.

Bracing himself against the countertop, Hardy forced himself to calm down. His heart rate was through the roof and the kitchen spun around him. He teetered to the side and Baxter caught him right before he was about to fall. Pills exchanged hands, and after a few minutes Hardy had settled down enough to speak.

"You're bloody kidding. You can't be serious about this?"

Baxter chewed on his lip and looked anywhere but at Hardy. "I'm afraid we are."

"Why? I thought you trusted me." There was more hurt in his voice than he wanted to let on.

"That's not what this is about, Alec. We –"

"Don't call me Alec. Not when you're telling me that I'm an untrustworthy piece of shit and you're giving me a bloody babysitter," Hardy interrupted him, livid with anger and full of the pain that his superiors' decision had caused him. "This is worse than sacking me. I'll be the laughing stock of the whole department."

Hardy fled the kitchen into the small sitting area. He slumped down on the sofa, dragging his hands over his tired eyes and face. He should have known. It was too good to be true that they wanted to keep him on in his current position. Trust and belief in his abilities hadn't been the motivation. The only reason had apparently been to humiliate him and make an example of a failed detective out of him.

"Alec, please let me explain," Baxter pleaded quietly from the doorway.

He hesitantly stepped into the room and sat down opposite Hardy.

"Will you go away if I tell you to?" Hardy growled.

"No," Baxter replied firmly.

Hardy snorted and leaned forward, his arms dangling between his legs. "Get it over with then," he demanded tonelessly. Whatever Baxter had to say, he'd already heard enough.

"It's not you that we don't trust, it's your heart. Until you get the pacemaker you won't be able to exert yourself or run a more strenuous investigation than let's say a petty theft. You know that just as well as I do."

Hardy didn't want to admit it, but Baxter unfortunately had a point. Even if the CMO cleared him, he wouldn't be of much use to CID with this bloody heart condition. What was he thinking? His body was failing him and the next fuck up was imminent. Or he'd die on the job.

"Then why keep me? I'm nothing but a burden to this department. Let me go and I can –"

"Oh, shut up, Alec. You're a good detective and you know it. We might not be able to put your body to use, but we can use your stubborn wanker brain. But for that we need someone to do the leg work. Hence Rebecca Irvine," Baxter argued rapidly before Hardy could get another word in.

"Why her?" Hardy whined. Ever since she'd joined his team, he'd struggled to find one single attribute that he could respect her for.

"Because she wants this promotion so badly that she's willing to put up with anything."

"Oh, thanks for that," Hardy grumbled. Irvine's perpetually contemptuous face danced in front of his eyes. Maybe succumbing to his bloody heart disease was the better option. There had to be another reason why they had picked her. Baxter never had thought highly of her either.

"Also, she has no involvement whatsoever in the case," Baxter confirmed his unspoken question.

"I see," he commented drily.

"I'm sorry, Alec. I wish there was a better solution for this. But we can't risk –"

"That I botch up another investigation," Hardy finished Baxter's sentence with so much bitterness that he tasted bile in his mouth.

Baxter groaned and thrust his fingers through his hair. "No, that's not it," he objected sharply.

Then his voice softened with every continued word. "We can't risk you keeling over while interrogating a suspect. We can't risk you running yourself to the ground. We can't risk you _dying_. It's as simple as that. We worry about you; we _care_ about you."

Hardy's mouth opened to spew out a snarky remark about what a waste of time all that worrying was, but when he saw Baxter's sincere expression, he closed it without saying anything. He should be happy that they cared, but truth be told, there was only one person he wanted to care about him. He dropped his gaze and fingered a speck of imaginary dust on his trousers.

"I talked to Daisy today. Asked her if I could pick her up from school to have tea. She said she couldn't because she has to study for some exams. I think she lied to me, Ed. She's never done that before."

His voice broke. He looked up and met Baxter's sorrowful eyes. "She thinks I don't care about her or the family any more. She's convinced I left them."

He flicked the imaginary piece of lint and snorted. "She isn't even wrong. I _did_ leave."

"You didn't leave, Alec. You didn't come back to a home that didn't welcome you any more. There is a difference," Baxter stated calmly.

"And how do I explain that to Daisy without telling her about the affair, hm?" Anger emphasized his Scottish brogue.

"You can't. All you can do is to assure that you love her and that what happened has nothing to do with your love for her."

"Did you read that in a bloody self-help book?" Hardy snapped. "Because that's what it sounds like. Try telling that to a teenaged girl who feels her mother has been wronged and who is hurt. Doesn't work that way."

Hardy caught Baxter's irritated expression.

"Don't you dare say a single word about it being my choice to keep it a secret!" he pressed between gritted teeth.

They glared at each other for a while until Hardy lost the willpower to fight with his friend. He slouched against the sofa and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling instead.

"'M not supposed to be here anyway. Should have died already," he muttered nearly unintelligible. Baxter had heard him though.

"Alec, stop it!" Baxter's authoritative voice whipped through Hardy, making him flinch.

Hardy couldn't hold back. Self-loathing took over and he spat, "Why? Why should I stop? What the fuck do I have left, Ed? My daughter finds excuses to avoid me, while you guys find me a babysitter. Looks to me that it would be easier for everyone if my sorry arse would simply cease to exist."

"Please don't say that," Baxter told him, getting up. He took a seat next to Hardy, hesitantly putting his arm around Hardy's shaking shoulders. "I'd like for your sorry arse to be around for a bit longer. Who else could I grow an ulcer over otherwise, hm?"

Hardy moaned and Baxter pulled him closer. "Besides..." – he paused and the corner of his mouth curled up in a sly grin – "... your neighbors seem to believe that I have laid my eyes on your sorry arse for very different purposes."

"Seriously, Ed?" Hardy admonished his sniggering friend. His lips twitched, hiding the fact that he might have been the slightest bit amused.

"Ha, I saw that." Baxter stabbed his index finger at Hardy's biceps.

"Your jokes are getting worse with age."

"Good enough to make you stop talking shit," Baxter defended himself, still smiling.

Hardy hummed his agreement. It might have been enough to prevent him from voicing his self-deprecatory thoughts, but not to make them go away. For the sake of his worried friend, he put on the mask that he'd been wearing these past weeks to fool the people around him. It didn't fool himself though, but at least it fended off concerned questions about his well-being.

Accepting his fate, he asked with a deep sigh, "How is this going to work with Irvine?"

"I will assign the case load. If needed, you can work together and she can consult with you."

Hardy shot Baxter a sideways glance. "What you're saying is, she'll get to go out in the field and I'll get to sit in CID and rot with boredom until she comes running to me. Spectacular."

"Alec, once you get yourself sorted out, you both can work on things. This is only temporary."

Temporary until he either died on the table during the pacemaker surgery or randomly on the street because his bum ticker couldn't handle a car horn being honked right next to him. Either way, his future looked bright.

"Right. If you say so." Hardy dragged his hands over his face and pushed himself to a stand. At least he still had a job, he repeated to himself, clinging on to that little leftover piece of his life.

Wordlessly he trudged out of the room, leaving Baxter behind. He grabbed his coat.

"Alec, where are you going?" Baxter called after him.

"A walk."

"It's getting dark. You shouldn't –"

"For fuck's sake, Ed. I'm an adult and I can handle myself," Hardy snarled without looking back. "Lock the door behind you, would you please," he added and fled the place he was supposed to call home but couldn't.

* * *

Hardy wandered through the greying streets of Sandbrook. Not many people were out that late. Nevertheless, Hardy couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone. Now and then, he glanced over his shoulder, but there wasn't anyone. His mind must have been playing tricks with him.

His feet took him to the park across the police station and the hospital. It was deserted at this time of the evening, a fact that Hardy welcomed. He'd never been one for having people around, and lately his desire for solitude had only increased. A bench nearby looked inviting, and suddenly he became painfully aware of how weary he was.

Exhausted, he lowered his body onto the wood. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and tried to find solace in the quiet sounds of the night.

"Alec?"

His eyelids jerked open and his heart leapt inside his rib cage. He squinted at the slender figure of a woman.

"Claire?" he croaked. "What are you doing here?"

He looked around. They were alone. The hairs at the nape of his neck pricked up. He had been right. Someone had been following him. There was no other way for her to find him there.

"I need help and I didn't know who else to turn to," she blurted out and took a seat next to him. The warmth of her body at this close proximity was making him uncomfortable. He shuffled away, but she mirrored his movement, and if anything pressed herself more against him.

"What do you want, Claire?" he asked again, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

He hadn't forgotten the cat-and-mouse game she'd been playing with him all throughout the investigation. She didn't volunteer an answer, but Hardy remained silent, refusing to get dragged into her drama. Eventually, she cupped her hands over her belly.

"I'm pregnant, Alec," she whispered. Tears glittered in her eyes.

Hardy wasn't surprised. He'd surmised as much while working on the case. Not knowing her reason why she'd stalked him to share the news, he thought it best to keep his mouth shut.

"It's Lee's. He doesn't know." She was overtly crying now.

Hardy took a better look at her disheveled appearance. She was far from the put together flirtatious woman he'd met a few weeks ago. She'd changed, just like him. It saddened him more than it should have. He stayed quiet though, waiting for her to reveal her game. She didn't.

The silenced dragged on and finally Hardy had enough. He stood. When he began to walk away, she grabbed his coat tails.

"Please, don't leave me. None of my friends talk to me any more because of what Lee did. I'm so alone, Alec."

She sounded desperate enough for Hardy to stop. He turned around and faced her.

"Again, what do you want from _me_?"

"I've lost it all. The hair salon fired me, I got kicked out of our house, and I have to hide from the press everywhere I go," she spilled out rapidly, getting more and more agitated. She rubbed the tiny bump with trembling fingers. "I did everything I could to protect my family, but I failed. This baby is growing inside me and I have _nothing_ to offer to her. It's all gone."

Somewhere deep down her distraught words hit a chord. He fought it, knowing that it would lead him nowhere if he were to be drawn in. Her tears dripped onto the dry dusty ground, leaving little craters, like raindrops on water. Hardy blinked and shoved away thoughts of children and rivers.

"He forced me to have sex with him without protection," she confessed.

Her voice and posture conveyed shame, but Hardy was unsure if this wasn't part of her act. His resolve was wavering though. She looked so stricken and forlorn, leaving Hardy with the uneasy feeling that she might be telling the truth. A small but growing flame of anger heated up his stomach.

Reluctantly, he sat down at the end of the bench. She didn't move closer this time.

"I can't have this baby, Alec. How can I bring her into the world when she can expect nothing from her mother and her father killed a little girl?" she cried.

Pippa's bloated body was sitting on the bench right there with them and the flame in Hardy's stomach flickered hotter. Hardy bit his lip, making an effort not to let on to his emotions.

"Why are you telling me all of this, Claire?" He struggled to ignore that voice in his head that wanted to embrace and comfort her.

"I'm having an abortion. I don't want to go alone," she said quietly.

Hardy sat there, mute and stiff. If she'd simply been a distressed woman, things might have been easier. But she was his key witness to a possibly lost case. She was asking him to violate all police procedure standards. Setting aside all his personal beliefs surrounding the issue of abortion, if anyone ever found out he'd gone with her, it could be disastrous. Or maybe it wouldn't matter because he'd be gone soon enough. He was still fighting his inner demons when she said,

"I was so in love with him. All I ever wanted was to make him happy. He didn't need to force me. All he needed to do was ask, but instead he broke my heart and threw everything away."

Her words echoed through his mind, bleeding into his own wounded soul. She was as alone as he was, tossed around by forces that had been out of her control and branded by the actions of the one person she had thought would keep her safe.

"Alec, I need you. Please don't leave me alone," she begged, the despair in her voice tugging on his feeble heart.

Someone who had been deserted and cast out wanted his help. His resolve broke. He reached out, brushing back her messy hair.

"It's going to be all right," he whispered into the dark night, more to himself than her.

* * *

 **A/N:** I don't want to be over explanatory, but I would like to remark on two things.

One – Alec mentions in S2 that Sandbrook was his last case before coming to Broadchurch. That left me with the following questions – How could he have gotten the DI job in Broadchurch if he wasn't working? He had to be on some sort of active duty. But if that was the case – how come he didn't work on any cases for about a year or so? Ed and Liz's plan B is my feeble attempt at getting at this particular issue.

Two – I have thought hard and long about how to address Claire's abortion in this part of the story. I have decided the only aspect that I wanted to write about was the moment where she manipulates Hardy into going with her, and nothing further. I deliberately tried to stay away from giving Hardy an opinion and instead have him react to being alone and an outcast at moment in time where he is vulnerable to it. I hope it worked. Including this part of canon into my story is in no way an expression of opinion or anything the like on my behalf. I am merely working with a plot line that has been given and I hope people will see it as such. Thank you for your understanding and respect in that matter.


	5. CHAPTER 5

**A/N:** I finally wrestled down the writer's block induced by RL crap. It's been a tough few weeks, but maybe, just maybe things now can get better… Alec is also having a tough time… A big thank you to hazelmist, ktroseworld, and excusemewhileiwagmytail for reading and fixing things.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5**

July had come with a sweltering heat wave. Whoever could afford to do so had fled town and that included Daisy and her mother. Daisy loved the ocean, the beach and everything that came with it. Hardy had never been a fan of it, so it wasn't surprising that Daisy and Tess had talked about going without him. What did sting though was the fact that they had planned on going by themselves even before everything had fallen apart.

He hadn't seen much of his daughter in the last few weeks. They'd shared the occasional phone call and had had lunch and tea a few times. With every meeting the awkward distance between them had become more and more tangible. Daisy was taciturn and Hardy was at a loss for how to draw her out. They'd tried to go to the movies, but Daisy had been too busy. It probably was just as well they didn't go because Hardy worried secretly if loud and sudden noises would tip the delicate balance his heart had found in the past month that he'd been doing nothing.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk, ripping off the tape with the cotton ball that the nurse at the CMO's office had placed. He'd gone through a battery of the same tests that Emily had subjected him to three days prior. She'd been cautiously optimistic, and to his astonishment the CMO had cleared him for active duty. Hardy shoved away the uncomfortable feelings the encounter with the official physician had left him with. He hadn't been exactly truthful when answering all the questions about recent episodes, situations that triggered his arrhythmia, and how much exertion he could tolerate. His lies had been white enough to buy him a ticket back into CID to be Rebecca Irvine's pencil pusher.

Hardy meandered through the oven-like streets of Sandbrook. The air rippled over the baking asphalt, and the sun bit into the bare skin of his forearms. He rolled down his sleeves, but the thin fabric could only provide so much protection. He noted a makeup smudge on the cuffs – a reminder of the day he'd spent with Claire Ripley in the clinic. Scratching at the only evidence that he'd broken all the rules, he scolded himself for getting dragged into her game. At least he'd still been on leave. He hadn't heard from her since then. He shook his head at his own idiocy and resumed his aimless walk.

By the time he reached his flat, his shirt stuck to his sweaty back and his heart thudded against his rib cage, struggling with the extra strain of the stifling day. He relished the relief that the cool air in the building welcomed him with. The elevator door opened with a ping, taunting him with the prospect of solitude and respite in his home. Unfortunately, the universe had different plans for him.

Fumbling with his keys, his gaze was cast downward, right up to the moment before he reached his door. If he'd paid more attention to his surroundings, he might have avoided tripping over a purple holdall and nearly bashing his head in on the wall.

"Bloody hell," he cursed, bracing himself against the rough plaster. "Who the fuck-"

"Oi. Language, Dad."

Hardy spun around. Daisy was sitting on the floor next to the entrance to his flat, legs crisscrossed and long hair flowing around her scrunched up face.

"Darlin'? What're you doin' here?" he wheezed, surprise shifting his pitch up.

"Dying of boredom." She pretend-yawned and tossed her mobile into her lap.

"Why aren't you with your mother in Brighton?" Hardy questioned her.

Daisy avoided his searching eyes, playing with the phone in her hands. Shrugging, she mumbled, "Didn't like the scenery."

Hardy squinted at his daughter. She was a bad liar. Taking in a steadying breath, he was about to quiz her more, when he remembered a tiny tidbit of office gossip he had picked up years ago. Dave _Fucking_ Thompson was from Brighton. Hardy slumped heavily against the hallway wall. It had barely been two months since he'd found out about the affair and sacrificed everything to keep it a secret. It was hard to believe that Tess would be this careless and plan a holiday trip together with her lover. A choked gag worked its way out of his throat.

Daisy's head whipped up, and she fixed her hazel eyes on him.

"You okay, Dad?" she asked insecurely.

"'M fine, darlin'," he reassured her.

He quickly turned towards the door, hiding his face that he couldn't trust not to betray him. The key clicked in the lock and something else clicked in his brain. Hastily he fished his mobile out of his suit jacket pocket. He hadn't looked at it since earlier this morning when he went to the CMO's office. There was no need to check the many notifications, he already knew who all the texts and voice messages were from.

Squeezing his eyes shut and deliberately not facing Daisy, he stated, "You didn't tell your mother where you went."

It wasn't a question. Her silence confirmed what he'd deduced from the facts he'd gathered. Without a word, he pivoted on his heels and gave her a death glare, indicating with his head for her to go inside.

Shoulders dropping and chin tucked in, she traipsed through the door and into the living room. Her purple bag was carelessly discarded somewhere on the way.

Hardy followed her while texting Tess that he'd found Daisy at his doorstep. His phone rang roughly about two heartbeats later. Sighing, he picked up.

"Alec, what the fuck did you tell her?"

"Hello to you too, Tess." He took the snort on the other end as a greeting. "For the record, I didn't do a bloody thing," he added exasperatedly.

"And why did she come running to you then?" Tess was livid, but after years of knowing her so well he easily recognized the fear behind those words.

"She says, she didn't like the scenery. Maybe she saw some things she didn't agree with?" Hardy suggested with an edge to his voice.

"Oh, please, Alec," Tess dismissed him. "And what is that even supposed to mean?"

Hardy shot a glance towards the living room. Daisy seemed oblivious of his presence, tapping away on her phone. He cradled the handset and replied with a hushed voice, "Met any new acquaintances down in Brighton? Maybe an old colleague, ey?"

The silence was deafening. Hardy pressed his fingers onto his eyeballs. How could she? It was too much to bear. Not after the long day he'd had. He staggered into the bathroom, locked the door, and swallowed his pills. Then he plopped down on the bathtub's wall.

"Listen, Tess, I can't talk about this right –"

"Oh, piss off, Alec. First you bring it up and then you don't wanna talk about it? Antagonize and then run. Typical. I'm so done with this."

"Oh, I know that. You've been done for months," he spat back acridly.

"I don't need to listen to this."

Hardy snorted, hiding his despair behind disgust. It hurt. It hadn't stopped. Two months had gone by, and he still would take her back in a stuttering heartbeat and go back to his family. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Weariness flooded through his body and mind at the same time the air was leaving him.

"Right," he groaned through gritted teeth.

"What are you going to do with Daisy?" she finally broke the silence that had fallen in between them once more.

He passed a hand over his stubbly cheeks. "Oh, I dunno. I doubt she wants to go back."

She growled her agreement but didn't offer another solution.

"I don't have a room for her. I can sleep on the sofa, I guess," Hardy suggested meekly.

"Alec, don't be daft. You really shouldn't," she admonished him half-heartedly, all sharpness gone. "You need to have proper rest."

Hardy wasn't sure if the concern in her voice was a figment of his pathetically needy imagination.

"'S fine. I've fallen asleep on it before. Wouldn't be a first," he admitted with a sigh.

"Oh, Alec." She paused briefly and when she continued, Hardy wished she hadn't. "You could take her to the house. She could sleep in her room and you –"

"No," he cut her off roughly. There was no way he'd go back there and sleep in the bed that she had possibly shagged Dave Thompson in by now. His tired brain lost control and before he knew it, he asked,

"Did you ever sleep with him in our bed? While I was still around?"

As soon as the words had slipped off his tongue he regretted them. He didn't want her to know how much he was bothered by the idea. There was no response and Hardy's chest tightened. Why did he have to ask? Something in between a gag and a sob worked its way up his throat and he hated himself for being so transparent.

Eventually he managed a muttered "I see" while she remained mute.

"Alec –"

"Don't," he ordered her tiredly.

She huffed and changed the topic. "Have you signed the papers yet?"

"Seriously? You're asking me that now? Right after you basically told me you shagged –" Hardy stopped right there, holding himself back from losing his temper completely. He wished for her to comment, to defend herself, in order for him to have an excuse to lash out. She didn't do him the favor. It was for the better, as Daisy was within ear shot and nothing good could come from where this conversation was going.

A few deep breaths later, it was his turn to steer them away from unsafe waters. "When are you coming back?"

"I'll leave first thing in the morning and cut the trip short. Not like I have a choice," she complained.

"So you'd rather –" Hardy clenched his jaw and shut up. The spiral of fury and raw feelings was taking him down a path he didn't want to go. He swallowed his wounded pride and with it the hurt remark. The insult born from a deep seeded anger that was ready to be unleashed stayed where it should. Behind his sealed lips and buried in his soul.

"All right then. We'll make do tonight," he said flatly, banning his emotions from filtering into his voice.

"Don't you have the appointment with the CMO tomorrow morning?"

"No. That was today." He didn't even know why he had told her what the terms of his retention in the force were. He regretted it now, feeling vulnerable where he should have felt safe and sound. He clambered to his feet and leaned heavily onto the sink.

"And?" she prompted him when he didn't volunteer the information.

"Everything is fine. He cleared me." Catching a glimpse of his haggard and pale face in the bathroom mirror, he yet again wondered how he had gotten away with it.

"What? How is that possible?" Incredulity laced her words. "What lies did you tell him, Alec?" she questioned accusingly.

"I didn't lie, Tess," he stated bluntly.

"Yeah, just omitted the truth like you did with me," she retorted.

"Oh, you wanna talk about keeping back the truth, hm? Because we could hold a competition. And maybe we can have Daisy do the judging," he spat, suddenly livid with her.

"Don't you dare say anything to her!" she snarled.

"And why shouldn't I, ey?"

"Because this whole idea was your shit plan and you better stick with it now. You know she'll hate me for the rest of my life if she finds out. What if you fucking die tomorrow running down some bloody murderer?"

Her angry words took the wind out of his sail. Deflated, he sank back down onto the bathtub wall.

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuck._ Groaning,he gently tapped his temple against the cool tiles. He couldn't argue with his own reasoning.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

"Sure you did," he interrupted her tersely. "And you're right. That's what I asked for. Wait out my sorry existence until it actually ceases to exist," he scoffed, bitterness tangible.

"Stop it, Alec!"

The one syllable of his wretched name shuddered through him, strumming every chord in his body that she'd ever helped string. However, all harmony was gone and he was left with a mistuned world. He longed for her so much, even when her every word seemed caustic. Sliding down to the tiled floor, he tucked his knees close to his body. His head buried under his arm, he whispered into the phone,

"I miss you, Tess."

"Please don't do that," she replied quietly.

"Can't we –"

"No, Alec. We can't. And somewhere in your stubborn brain you know that." Her voice brushed over him and it didn't take him much to almost feel her fingers combing through his hair.

"We could try? Be a family again?" he stammered, crying now.

"Please don't do that to yourself and me. We haven't really been a family in a long time. And there will be a day when you realize that too."

"What if I don't want to?" he cried, a desperate petulance clouding his rough tone.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," she told him coldly.

"Harder?" The question rolled off of his tongue, his Scottish accent adding a few more R's than the word should have had. "Do you have any idea –"

A knock at the door cut him off.

"Dad? Are you going to be long? I gotta use the loo." Daisy's muffled voice filtered through the wood.

Hardy cleared his throat and swallowed. He'd forgotten about Daisy. Shakily, he climbed to his feet, phone still pressed against his ear.

"Be right out, darlin'."

"Wash your face, Alec," Tess ordered him sternly.

"What?"

"You were crying. If you don't want her to pick up on it, go wash your face," she explained in a dreadfully calm tone.

"Right." Why she even cared was beyond his comprehension.

"I'll let you go. Tell her she'll be grounded for absconding. I expect her to be home when I get back tomorrow afternoon."

Before he could reply, she had hung up. Hardy stared at his fuzzy reflection in the dead screen of his mobile until his eyes burned. Then he blinked away the tears and the despair. The cold water rinsed away the rest of it, soothing him more than he'd reckoned it would.

"Dad, are you done? I really gotta go," Daisy whined.

After breathing in and out a few times, he felt ready enough to open the door.

"Ugh, finally," she exclaimed, tiptoeing restlessly on the same spot.

Despite all the heartache that his conversation with Tess had brought on, Hardy couldn't help but smile. The teenaged girl in front of him turned into his little four-year-old again, performing a pee-pee dance. When she tried to impatiently shove by him, he snagged her and drew her into a quick but tight hug.

"Da-ad!" she protested and wiggled out from under his arms. He pressed a kiss in her hair and released her, ducking his head to hide the emotions that were playing over his face.

He busied himself with changing the linen on his bed while she was in the bathroom. _Bloody fitted sheet_. For the life of him he couldn't figure out which corner was supposed to go where. Absorbed in his task, he held it up. A scowl spread over his forehead and he sighed in exasperation.

"Was she mad?"

Hardy jumped. The dangling fabric had obscured his view of the bedroom entrance and he hadn't realized she'd sneaked up on him. His heart had had enough of this day and didn't take kindly to the scare. It stuttered like a defective engine backfiring and struggled to keep up an appropriate pace, failing to pump blood to his weary brain. Feeling faint, he slumped onto the bare mattress, the sheet slipping through his numb fingers.

"That bad?" Daisy wondered.

Hardy nodded silently, willing his bum ticker to not betray him for once. And after all the shit that the gods had thrown at him on this day already, they were merciful this time. The erratic beating up his throat settled down and he was able to focus on the world around him.

Daisy plopped down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. With a deep sigh, she asked, "Am I grounded?"

"Aye," he managed.

"How long?" She snuggled closer.

"She didn't say," he murmured into her hair.

"Can't I stay with you, Dad?"

Hardy squeezed his eyes shut. "You can sleep here tonight. You'll take my bed and I'll take the sofa."

"That's not what I meant." Her tone roughened with her annoyance and she sat up straight.

Hardy knew all too well that she had referred to something different, but he didn't have it in him to discuss it again.

"Why don't you want me to live with you?" she insisted, her eyebrows scrunching up in anger.

"This place isn't big enough," he sighed.

"Horseshit, Dad!" she yelled, jumping up from the bed. "You didn't even try to get a flat with a room for me."

She paced back and forth in the confined space of his tiny bedroom. His gaze followed her silently, letting her fury wash over him. He didn't have any proper arguments. Sharing his fear of dying and burdening her with his disease wasn't an option.

"Why are you not saying _anything_?"

His mouth twitched, but he stayed mute.

"Unbelievable! Why do you have to be like that? No wonder that you and Mum couldn't work it out," she spat and stormed out of the room.

Hardy struggled to follow her into the sitting room. She was frantically gathering up her belongings.

A sudden anxious pang crunched up his stomach. The thought of being alone after his conversation with Tess and Daisy weighed heavily on him. He collapsed onto the sofa.

"Darlin', please don't leave," he begged.

She shot him a furious glance. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry, I'll stay put. I just don't want to talk to you anymore."

She snatched up her mobile and all the other things she'd already scattered all over the room. Then she hurried out into the hallway.

"Daisy…" he meekly called after her, his shoulders drooping.

The door to his bedroom slammed shut. The lock clicked and Hardy hung his head between his arms, grating his nails over his scalp. His fingers curled into his shaggy hair, gripping it tightly. She was slipping away from him, inch by inch, one unspoken word at a time. Maybe it was for the best, but it still hurt badly. He missed her. Every single moment he allowed himself to think about it.

He picked up his aching body and trudged over to where his daughter was hiding. He rapped the wood and asked,

"Daisy, I know you're angry-"

"Piss off, Dad! You know shit about me," she shouted.

Hardy cringed. The realization that she was right was devastating.

"'M sorry."

The door cracked open and a livid Daisy stuck her head out.

"I don't care," she snarled. "It doesn't make it better if you're sorry. Being sorry never changes anything. It doesn't give me back my family. You left us!" she yelled and the door was thrown in his face.

It was more than he could bear. He sagged to the floor. His legs had gone rubbery and he struggled to breathe. Tears welled up, closing off his throat. This had not been part of the plan. None of it. He wasn't supposed to live through this and face the raw wounded anger of his daughter. He fought the overwhelming sensation of losing control and scrambled to his feet. Stumbling and nearly falling, he made it to the sofa and crashed down heavily. His face cradled into his elbow, his emotions dragged him under and away with the river, drowning once more.

* * *

When he woke in the dark night, he had no idea if he'd passed out or fallen asleep. A pillow was shoved under his head and his duvet was wrapped carefully around him. Despite the hot day, the night had cooled off and a chilly draft had crept into his flat. Slowly, he sat up, bundled up the duvet, and padded to the bedroom. The door was ajar and he pushed it open. The sheet outlined Daisy's slim curled up shape. Her jacket was draped on top. He sneaked up, retrieved the piece of clothing, and then tucked her in under his duvet. She stirred and turned over, but didn't wake up. She'd always been a sound sleeper. The mattress curved under his weight when he took a seat next to her. He brushed over her hair, cherishing the moment that might not come again.

His sense of time had left him and he had no idea how long he'd stared lost in his thoughts at his daughter. Light filtered through the curtains when he finally came back to the here and now. Realizing how odd it would be for Daisy to find him sitting next to her on the bed, he hurried to leave the room.

* * *

Daisy woke up not too long after. They shared a silent breakfast, neither one of them too eager to revisit the previous night's argument. A stolen hug and hasty goodbye later, Hardy's gaze followed the taxicab he had put Daisy in to go back to her mother's house. He missed her already.

He rubbed his fingers over his eyes, took in a deep breath, and started walking towards the Sandbrook police station. Anxiety built with every step he took. His first day back as the scapegoat for everything gone wrong and Irvine's pencil pusher had arrived.

* * *

 **A/N:** The line to slap Tess starts here… right behind my gracious beta readers and myself…


	6. CHAPTER 6

**A/N:** Thank you everyone for your patience and loyalty. It took a while again for this update. Alec is back at work… I hope this and the next chapter(s) won't be too slow or boring… we are getting to where we need to. A big thank you to KTRose and Excusemewhileiwagmytail for beta'ing.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

The door to the South Mercia Police Constabulary swung open and spit out a couple of uniformed officers. They shot a quick look at Hardy and rushed past him. He had no more excuses to delay entering the building. His hands balled into fists, he inhaled sharply and took that step he dreaded so much while letting the air escape through his nose.

The desk sergeant greeted him with a polite nod and a mumbled "sir" but hurried to avert his gaze. Hardy faced straight ahead, avoiding making eye contact with anyone else. The wait at the elevator dragged out to an eternity, but taking the stairs was out of question. His heart was erratically galloping along as it was.

The stares of the assembled ground floor staff burned at the nape of his neck. His back was turned to the crowd and his eyes were glued to the elevator door. As soon as the cart arrived and the heavy metal slid open, he rushed inside, hoping he'd be able to ride up to the third floor by himself.

He had no such luck. The very person he wanted to see last followed him on his heels.

Rebecca Irvine was taller than he remembered her being. She was lost in a file she was carrying with her, unaware who she had joined in the elevator. When she absentmindedly reached for the button, Hardy wasn't nimble enough to move out of her way. She bumped into his side, grunting in annoyance.

She looked up. The irritated scowl on her face vanished once she realized who he was. It was replaced by a smirk that could pass as greeting with much imagination.

"DI Hardy, you missed the morning brief. You're late," she commented.

He wasn't, but it was none of her business to know the exact deal he'd arranged with MacMillan and Baxter. His hours had been reduced while not working actively on a case. He hadn't wanted any special treatment, however, his superiors had insisted on it.

Pulling the corners of his mouth down, his eyebrows went up to meet his hairline. He shrugged and asked, "Did I miss something? Or did you need me and my vast experience to run the briefing?"

It was antagonistic, and probably he should have kept his mouth shut, but her admonishing tone had put him off.

"Seriously? You haven't even set foot into CID and you're already picking a fight?" she retorted.

Hardy rolled his eyes and didn't dignify her with an answer. The ping of the elevator saved them from further quarreling. He gestured her to go out first which earned him a derisive huff. He was right behind her, although she didn't bother holding the door for him. Hardy caught it before it could hit him in the face.

 _Spectacular._ This was shaping up to be a healthy work relationship.

He hesitated a couple of heartbeats before pushing the door open. It had been two months since he'd last walked on this floor. MacMillan's words rang in his ears – _'There will be talk about you'_ – and last-minute panic about what he'd find inside made him want to run. But as he had said to Baxter weeks ago, he wasn't one for running. Determined to face whatever life was going to throw at him, he willed himself to move forward.

* * *

Silence fell as soon as everyone noted who'd come in. Hardy did his best to ignore it and focused on putting one foot in front of the other to get to the safety of his office. He barged in and froze to the spot.

Irvine was sitting behind his desk.

"Why're you here?" he managed, his voice shifting up an octave.

"Oh, for god's sake. Baxter didn't tell you?" she asked and swiveled around in his chair.

"Tell me what?" he growled.

His gaze darted through the room and he realized that it had been rearranged. His actual desk had been moved next to the window, and a new one had been placed where he used to sit.

"He wants us to share the office." She sounded as aggravated by the idea as he felt.

 _Bloody hell._ That was the last thing he needed.

"Supposedly there isn't any other space available," she offered as means of explanation. Her doubtful undertone wasn't lost on Hardy.

Hardy took a hesitant step toward his new workstation.

"I thought you might want to be close to the window," Irvine stated, displaying a surprising amount of consideration. He searched her face. Maybe she meant it.

"'S all right," he sighed and tossed his jacket over the chair.

* * *

He took his new spot behind his empty desk. With the corner of his eye he scanned over the clutter on Irvine's side of the room. File folders were scattered over the dark wooden work surface, loaded with sticky notes and neat scribbles.

Irvine had her head buried in the papers and did her best to ignore him. He was contemplating if he should ask her to share some of the ongoing case work with him, when she spoke without even looking up.

"Don't get any ideas, Hardy. I've got this under control. No need to meddle."

"Fine," he grunted, already resigned with the arrangement before the first day had drawn to an end.

He sat there for a while, staring out the window without seeing anything. His fingers tapped out a restless rhythm of boredom.

"Will you stop that?" Irvine demanded irritatedly.

Hardy abruptly balled his hands to fists. "Sorry."

A snort indicated how much she thought of his apology.

Hardy rolled his eyes. _Christ,_ _this was going to kill him faster than his dodgy heart_. He turned on his computer for no better reason than occupying his roaming fingers. His password was still active. He listlessly clicked his way through his accumulated notifications and emails. After deleting what must have been a million of them, a strong urge to bang his head against the screen was close to winning the battle against wanting to uphold the pretense that he was busy.

* * *

A week later he had run out of options to fake being occupied. Irvine had perfected her skills in ignoring him and hogging all the work. His brain was slowly turning to mush while he watched Irvine's, at best, average abilities to run his team.

 _Her team,_ he corrected himself. The loyalties had shifted quickly. He didn't allow himself to think about it. He tipped his head back and focused on the ceiling, running his tongue over his teeth.

His phone rattled on the wooden desk. Hardy snatched it up like a drunk would seize the last bottle of his favorite booze.

Baxter had sent him a text: **Don't look so bored. Wanna have lunch?**

Hardy's head snapped up. Baxter was leaning against the doorframe, just right outside of Irvine's visual field, and mimicked spooning some imaginary food into his mouth.

Hardy wasn't hungry but anything was better than rotting of boredom in this office.

"'M going for lunch," he mumbled, shrugging on his jacket.

Irvine didn't bother with him and ducked her head deeper into her files. Her standoffish behavior shouldn't have put him off considering their history, but it still got to him. He hurried after his friend and boss who'd gone ahead. They both knew that being seen together socially might not be the best idea.

Stolen glances and stares burnt on his back while he strode through the large CID room toward the exit. Despite the urge to run, he made an effort not to do so. It felt like a walk of shame. He pressed his lips together, sniffed, and held his head high. He'd better get used to the path he'd chosen for however many more days ahead.

* * *

Baxter watched Hardy pick at his food. It looked dreadfully healthy and not enjoyable at all. No wonder that his friend's permanent scowl deepened. He toyed around with his fork and some peas, stabbing them meticulously and stacking them on the same prong. It was oddly fascinating.

Baxter shook his head slightly and attempted to rekindle the conversation that had died out minutes ago.

"So, did you break the ice with Irvine?"

Hardy peered over his spectacles. "You're kidding, right?"

Baxter smirked. "What? You didn't woo her with your suave Scottish charm?"

Hardy choked on his neatly stacked peas. When Baxter reached over to pat him on the back, he was stopped by a murderous glare. His grin grew wider.

"She's like a bloody ice queen," Hardy hacked out between coughs. "And she likes it that way. Have you seen her run the briefings?"

"Seriously, Hardy? Most of the times you didn't even bother saying good morning."

Hardy rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "At least I didn't pretend to be nice," he grumbled.

Baxter sighed. It seemed like an impossible task to guide Hardy through this transition.

"Look, Alec, once you get the pacemaker and have recovered, it's going to be your show again."

"If I haven't succumbed to boredom until then," Hardy groused and went back to stabbing peas.

"It doesn't hurt you to take it easy for a while."

Hardy tossed down the fork and crossed his arms over his chest. "I've been taking it easy for over two bloody months. It gets old quickly."

Baxter felt for him, but there wasn't much he could do. He wondered if Hardy had caught wind of the things that were being said about him in CID. The small seeds of doubt he'd planted had grown into unruly weeds, painting a rather despicable picture of the formerly respected DI.

He put a hand on Hardy's arm. "Alec, I need you to lie low. There is a lot of talking going on, and stirring things up won't help anyone."

"What's that supposed to mean? It's not like this is a popularity contest."

"It's not that. We chose a path and now we have to stick with it." Baxter searched his friend's face carefully. He wanted to believe that second thoughts gleamed in those tired eyes. Hoping for a change of mind, he continued, "Unless of course you want to set things-"

"No. Absolutely not," Hardy interrupted him harshly. "I don't care what sort of horseshit people talk behind my back."

The faint blush on his pale cheeks gave him away, and Baxter's heart ached for his friend who might not pretend to be nice, but surely pretended to be tougher than he was.

"Promise me something," Baxter demanded. Hardy narrowed his eyes, but then nodded.

"Don't listen to any of the gossip. Don't hang out in the office kitchen or the coffee shop. Don't mingle."

"When have I ever mingled?" Hardy muttered defiantly, but the change in his expression told Baxter that he'd gotten the message.

They finished their meal in silence. When they walked back, Hardy's step had less bounce than before and his shoulders drooped. He was lost in his thoughts. Baxter itched to put his arm around him to give him some comfort, but they were too close to the station. If anyone were to see them together, the inflammatory remarks would only be stoked.

They parted ways before anyone noticed. Baxter hated it. It felt unnatural, especially knowing how lonely Hardy was and how much he needed his support at the moment.

He watched him stalk back into the station, heart heavy and hoping that his friend would never find out how skilled Baxter was when it came to spreading lies.

* * *

The first time Hardy heard it with his own ears it nearly did him in.

It had been three weeks since his return. Irvine had cut him off all case work, managing the team by herself. He hadn't pressed to be involved more as nothing that they were investigating currently had sparked his interest. Baxter was content with him not meddling and straining himself as little as he could. Hardy diligently came to work every single day and did his time in his office that had become his prison. He kept to himself, avoiding the averted eyes and hushed voices.

He'd always been a loner but this was different. Now people steered clear off him and not the other way round. It was more painful than he'd expected and would ever admit. He was getting used to it though, or at least he'd thought so.

A summer flu was going around CID and Hardy felt under the weather. The scratchy feeling in his throat drove him out of his seclusion, longing for a cup of tea. The kitchen wasn't a place he'd ever enjoyed hanging around, but since he'd come back, it had gotten worse. After debating with himself for a while, his desire for a hot cuppa won. It was late in the afternoon on a Friday, and most of the staff had left for the weekend.

Hardy made his way to the kitchen, passing by deserted cubicles and desks. He should have gone home ages ago, but one of the cases had caught his attention. His starved mind had latched onto the facts and evidence, and before he knew it, the day had gone by.

A muffled conversation filtered around the corner.

"No. That's not what it is. He screwed it up," a male voice who he didn't recognize said.

Hardy stopped dead in his tracks. Reason told him to make his presence known or to retreat, but he couldn't resist the urge to eavesdrop.

"But I've heard he wasn't even there that day, when they searched the car. How can he have lost it?" the other person, a woman, asked.

"Because his wife, the poor woman, gave it to him and then he had a drink and left it in his car."

Hardy cringed. Baxter's efforts had been successful.

"You really think he did that? He is such a stickler for the rules. And I've never heard he drinks."

"Have you seen him? He looks like shit all the time. And he was gone for two months. Where do you think he was? I bet it was rehab of sorts," the man speculated.

Hardy sagged against the hallway wall and pressed the heels of his hands onto his eyeballs. A drunk - that's what it had come down to. He'd been willing to die to solve the case and now this. It was his own fault though. What had he been expecting?

"Hm, it is possible, I reckon. Do you think that is why they took on a second DI?"

"Oh, I have no bloody idea. If he's an alcoholic, he's not reliable. Besides, if he drowns his brain cells in liquor, he's no good at doing the work. I'd bet a month's paycheck that they don't trust him with a more complex case than a bicycle theft. He sure fucked up the most profiled homicide this constabulary ever had to deal with."

The words were a punch to his gut and Hardy folded in on himself. He shouldn't have spied on them, but it was too late. He dug his trembling fingers into his thighs, barely keeping himself upright.

"Why would they let him keep his position though?"

"Good question. Years ago when we had that arsonist torching down half of Sandbrook, the word is that he had saved MacMillan's life. Maybe he cashed in a favor." There was a snigger. "Or maybe other favors were exchanged."

"Ugh, seriously? Did you have to say that?" There was more laughter.

Disgust made Hardy nauseated. MacMillan didn't deserve to be dragged through the mud like this. He was close to descending upon them and tell them off, when their next remark made his heart stutter.

"He's such a sexist pig though," the woman stated passionately. "He threw his wife under the bus to pay for his mistakes."

"Yeah, poor Tess. She always worked so hard and he took credit for it. She even called him out on it right before it happened."

Hardy's throat closed off. Hearing his lie come to life like this was horrific. The pauses between the thudding beats of his heart drew out longer, turning his legs to jelly and sending the world around him spinning. A voice in his brain spewed and cursed at how unjust it was that he'd be accused of something he didn't do while the guilty party was being pitied.

"He's been ruthless to protect himself. Look at what happened not only to Tess but also to Dave. Both of them got disproportionately punished for what? That they had handed over the evidence to Hardy who lost it in his drunken stupor. Fuckwit," the woman swore.

It was too much. Hardy slid down the wall, pulled down by a weight that had never left him since that day on the river. His hands shook too much to retrieve his rescue pills which he hadn't needed since he'd had that fight with Tess. The black closed in and he welcomed it.

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

A warm hand enveloped his wrist, feeling for his fleeting pulse. He managed a groan.

"Do you have any medication on you that could help?"

He nodded and clumsily moved his tingly fingers in the general direction of his jacket pocket. His wrist was released, and moments later a gentle pressure on his cheek coaxed him to open his mouth.

"Need two," he rasped.

He cracked his eyes open. Annie Swenson's forehead was pulled into a frown, but when she saw him blinking at her, she smiled.

"Here," she said and maneuvered the tablets into his mouth. She held up a water bottle. "Do you want this?"

She didn't wait for his answer and put the opening to his lips. He took a sip, spilling most of it down his collar, but it helped to gag down the pills.

Swenson tugged on his arm and draped it over her shoulder. She was a dainty woman with a hidden strength that Hardy didn't know where she took it from. She pulled him up and together they stumbled into the next best empty room. She lowered him carefully on a chair and hurried to close the door.

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

He shook his head. It wasn't that kind of an attack. It would pass. And if it didn't, it wouldn't matter.

"What happened?" she wanted to know once he had caught his breath.

"Nothing," he lied.

"Seriously? Do you think I'm a moron?" She sounded hurt. "I know that you have a heart problem. Remember, I came to see you in the hospital. You seemed okay since you're back, something must have provoked this."

He had trained her too well. She'd grown into a detective. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. Still, he wasn't going to share what had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. He flushed with embarrassment.

She stepped closer and placed a hand on his forehead. He flinched away.

"You feel hot. Maybe you caught that bug everyone seems to have these days?"

"'M fine," he insisted stubbornly.

She snorted and crossed her arms, towering over him.

"I heard what they were talking about. I can put two and two together, sir."

The muscles between his shoulder blades cramped, sending a stabbing pain through him. It must have shown on his face, judging from her reaction.

She hugged him.

Hardy didn't know what to do with himself. His body stiffened awkwardly in her embrace.

"It's all right," she muttered into his hair. "Don't listen to what they say. You know what really happened and why you did what you did."

She let go of him and stooped down so she could look up into his eyes like an adult would do with a child.

"And I know it too. These people don't matter. What matters is what you think of yourself. Don't let it get to you. That's easier said than done, but you can't let it win."

She'd matured tremendously in the last months, yet she still appeared so young to Hardy. He wished he could protect her from the world, but it was impossible.

His heavy hand fell on her shoulder and he pushed himself up, using her as a crutch.

"It already won, Swenson. It already won," he repeated, his voice hollow with resignation.

Then he walked out, alone with his choices and the burden of the consequences.

* * *

Swenson had been right. The office bug had claimed another victim. Two days later, Hardy found himself lying on Emily Abbott's exam table, shivering and aching all over. Never before had he gone to the doctor for the sniffles, but when he nearly passed out while staggering to the bathroom, it dawned on him that things had changed.

Emily gave him a lecture about how important it was for him to avoid having a fever, making it sound like it had been his fault that he'd been ravaged by a simple cold virus. He told her so. She shut up his bickering with some pills that would help to drive down his temperature. When she started talking about admitting him to the hospital, it was his turn to silence her.

"Hell no," he rasped, his voice hoarse from the sore throat. "Not going there for bloody sniffles."

"Alec, please-"

"No," he exclaimed defiantly.

His protest would have been more impressive if he hadn't been struck down by a dizzy spell as soon as he hobbled off the exam table.

"Ach, for fuck's sake," he groaned, gripping the piece of furniture tightly. Or at least he had intended to. His fingers slipped, together with the crinkly paper, and he just about caught his fall. It was pathetic. Hanging on to whatever dignity he had left, he less than gracefully plopped down onto the step-stool at the bottom of the exam table. A cough rattled through him.

Emily pulled over a chair and sat down opposite him. "Listen, you really need to-"

He didn't want to hear it, so he interrupted her with the only thing he could think of that might distract her.

"So, when can we do the pacemaker?"

She looked at him with a blank stare, blinked a few times, and then her face slowly folded itself into a scowl.

"I know what you're doing. I'm not an idiot," Emily stated, tired of his games.

Hardy's ears heated up even more. He blamed it on the fever and not his embarrassment.

"I think you don't understand how serious this is, Alec. Fever and respiratory issues are very dangerous for you these days. They can provoke an attack-"

His frustration grew and he took it out on her, "Who cares, Emily? My colleagues think I'm an alcoholic who can't be trusted and Daisy believes I deserted her. Everybody would be better off if I'm not around any more."

He'd braced himself for her angry reply, but it didn't come. Instead, her warm eyes rested on him for a long time, taking him in completely.

Eventually, she asked, steadily holding his gaze, "Do I need to be worried?"

He palmed his face and dragged his hands over it in a rough motion. "No, Emily. You don't," he sighed.

"Can you promise me?" she insisted.

He looked up. "Yes."

His voice quivered, but she didn't push him further. Taking in a deep breath, she stood and held out her hand for him. He scrambled to his feet, feeling less lightheaded. The fever had finally broken, and his heart rate had settled.

"About the pacemaker...," she began, giving him a sheepish glance, "No sane anesthesiologist is going to touch you for at least six weeks after you had a respiratory illness like this. You're already a high risk patient, they would want to wait for it to clear and then add some time."

"Oh," was all he could manage. Another month and a half to agonize over his shortcomings and to stare at Irvine's sour face.

"I'm sorry."

"'S not your fault," he mumbled. "Should have done it when I had the opportunity."

Their eyes met. His sadness was mirrored in her face. Nothing else needed to be said.

"Right. I should go."

He moved towards the door, but her hand on his arm held him back.

"You shouldn't be alone, Alec. Not while you're ill."

"And what am I supposed to do about that, ey? It's not like anyone wants me around," he snapped at her, suddenly angered by the mess his life had become.

His outburst bounced off of her. "Ed would be more than happy-"

"He's my boss, Emily. I can't stay with him. People are already wagging their tongues about him playing favorites," Hardy informed her harshly.

"How about your charming Scottish friend? What's his name again? Duncan?"

Hardy groaned inwardly. Of course she'd remember him as the charming one. Unbelievable.

"He lives in Cardiff. I highly doubt you would want me to go on a train trip right now," he argued, sarcasm lacing his words.

"He could come and pick you up?" she suggested and walked over to her desk. She grabbed her mobile and swiped the screen. "I can call him right now."

Hardy squinted at her. "Why do you have his number?"

Her cheeks turned pink. "He gave it to me when you were in hospital in case something happened and I couldn't get a hold of Ed."

"Spectacular." They were all ganging up on him.

She waved the phone, a questioning look on her face.

Exhausted with life, he gave in. "Go on," he sighed and slumped back onto the exam table.

A few hours later, he was tucked into the passenger side of Duncan's cluttered car, yet again seeking refuge with his oldest friend.


	7. CHAPTER 7

**A/N:** Dear all, I must apologize for not posting in forever and then daring to post something that most of you are not waiting for. I promise to follow soon with chapters for some of the other stories. This needed to be finished though before I can continue at another point in this insane story. I would like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas (and I'm being deliberately un-PC about it)! I hope you get to enjoy it with loved ones and in peace.

My special thanks to my muse THEDELIRIUMTENNANTS who may take another year or so to even get to this chapter. Let's all forgive her for eternally distracting me with her beautiful soul.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 7**

Hardy stirred with the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching him. He cracked his eyelids open. Duncan's eldest son was leaning against the door frame, his bright eyes resting on Hardy's slim figure.

"Cory," Hardy wheezed and struggled to sit up.

The lad rushed over to help a protesting Hardy. Hands swatted at each other, pillows were shoved around until finally Hardy was upright and Cory satisfied. Wordlessly, Cory passed over a box of tissue and waited patiently for Hardy to deal with his stuffed-up nose and hacking cough.

A week had gone by since Duncan had picked up Hardy from Emily's office. Recovery was slow but steady. The congestion and lingering cough was what remained from the vicious virus which had struck him down. Begrudgingly, Hardy had to agree with Emily; staying alone would have been a poor choice.

Cory squirmed, his face blushing under Hardy's scrutinizing stare.

"Out with it," Hardy demanded.

"Erm… Daisy called."

"She did?" Hardy was surprised. It wasn't something he'd expected after she'd angrily hung up on him during their last conversation.

Cory shuffled his feet and picked at his shirt sleeves. "Erm… maybe I called her."

"Thought so," Hardy sighed.

The words tumbled out of Cory's mouth. "No. That's not what it is. She wants to talk to you. Well, sort of. Maybe it's more like she feels she should because you're ill and-"

"Cory, what did you tell her?" Hardy cut him off sharply.

Hardy wasn't sure how much detail about his heart condition the lad knew, but he was a smart boy who had eyes in his head. He'd watched Hardy keenly over this past week, just like he had when Hardy had stayed with them earlier that year. His interest hadn't escaped Hardy's attention. If Cory had told Daisy too much, Hardy would find himself in an even more difficult position to explain himself than he already was.

"I didn't mention it," Cory mumbled under his breath, avoiding Hardy's piercing eyes.

Hardy didn't need to ask what _'it'_ meant.

Cory finally plopped down in the chair opposite Hardy. Defiance furrowed his forehead, and Hardy found himself on the receiving end of a deathly glare.

"She deserves to know. It's not okay to keep this a secret from her," Cory stated, bravely holding Hardy's gaze. "If I were her, I would want to know my father believes he's going to die."

Color drained from Hardy's face. "How do you…?" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"You and Dad should really turn it down when you argue. This house has thin walls."

"Right," Hardy moaned, chastising himself for being careless.

"Is it true?" Trepidation rang loudly in Cory's quiet question.

Hardy didn't have an answer. A couple of months ago, he would have said yes. He scoffed at the notion that surviving was an undesired outcome and at the absurdity of it all. Cory was still waiting, tense as a bow. He'd have to give the boy something.

"Honestly, I have no idea."

Cory slumped back into the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest. "That's good news though, isn't it?"

Hardy blew air through his nose. Before he could hold back, he said, "Is it?"

Cory gave him a quizzical look. Then a grin spread over his lips. "Daisy is so right."

"About what?"

Cory's grin grew wider. "Your shit plans."

"Excuse me?"

Cory leaned forward, unfolding his long legs. "I bet the reason why you don't want her to stay with you is not because you don't want her there, it's because you are worried you'll die on her. Sounds like a perfect shit plan to me."

Hardy gaped at the boy in front of him at a loss for words. It was all the confirmation Cory needed.

"Unbelievable," he commented. Hardy flinched at the admonishing tone.

"Cory, please, she is better off not knowing."

"You don't really believe that, do you? She has been miserable ever since you and Tess split up. You are more closed off than usual, and her mother has been perpetually angry at the world. What does that leave her with? Nothing," he burst out and jumped to his feet. "She is not a baby any more who needs to be protected. You owe her the truth, Alec," he announced and left a stunned Hardy behind.

In his hurry to leave Cory collided with his mother whose gaze flicked back and forth between her aggravated son and her flustered house guest. Cory groaned and fled the scene. Geena lingered at the door, eyeing Hardy curiously.

"Are you grounded?" she teased, a smile playing over her lips.

Hardy dragged his hands down his face and neck. "Don't start."

Geena walked over and took a seat next to Hardy.

"He cares about Daisy. They talk surprisingly often, considering I can't get him to call me once a week since he moved to London."

She grinned at Hardy's horrified face. A violent sneeze scrunched up his features. Geena handed him a tissue and gingerly placed her arm around his shoulders.

"It'll be all right. Daisy and you will get used to your new normal. It takes time."

Hardy snorted. "Apparently, I might have more of that than expected."

Geena tilted her head. "Is that a bad thing?"

Hardy blankly stared ahead. He didn't know any more. Surviving hadn't been part of his scheme to protect his daughter. Cory was right. It was a shit plan, to a much bigger extent than what the lad even fathomed.

"Alec?" A hint of worry rang in his name.

He couldn't look at her. All those lonely mornings at his kitchen table when he desperately held onto a lukewarm cup of tea, all those wee hours of the night when he woke without anyone to save him from the river he was still drowning in, all those moments when his ailing heart stuttered from one painfully drawn out beat to the other not knowing if there'd be a next – all of it crushed him like a wave of a hungry ocean. He had less and less will power in him to fight that weight which was pulling him under into a darkness he had never known before.

Geena tugged him closer when he buried his face in his palms to hide the few scant tears he had left. She ran her hand through his stringy hair, soothing him like a child.

"You're not alone, Alec," she whispered in his ear. "Don't forget that."

She brushed a gentle kiss on his crown and held him until the world felt less dark and lonely.

* * *

It was the end of the summer and the platform bustled with the last stragglers traveling home from school holiday. Hardy turned his face away from the last rays of the afternoon sun and reluctantly boarded a train back to Sandbrook. Departing was harder than last time, or maybe it wasn't so much about what he was leaving behind, but more about the lack of something to return to in Sandbrook.

His hold all weighed heavy with the signed divorce papers. Geena had insisted on using his stay as an opportunity to take care of Tess' ludicrous demands and had bullied Tess' lawyer into an agreement. The finality of his name on that dotted line was unbearable, but there wasn't any other way. He didn't tell anyone he'd give anything to have his family back, regardless of how much Tess had humiliated and hurt him.

The landscape breezed by outside the window, unnoticed by his tired eyes. Streaks of hundreds of raindrops on the glass blurred into his waking nightmare of muddy water pulling him under and away from all warmth and light. A quick shake of the head and a feeble tap of his heart at his ribcage brought him back to the here and now.

Daisy had never called.

She was slipping away from him, one unspoken word at a time. Her silence made him ache for those seemingly happy days of blissful ignorance where he could pretend everything was all right. He was disgusted by his own desire to live with this illusion, but he couldn't help himself. It was to no avail though, and despite what Geena had said, ultimately, they were all alone.

* * *

Hardy stared out into the grey Autumn skies. Wind gusts had rid the trees of their colorful leaves, leaving them barren to face the winter storms. The door to their office was thrown shut, ripping Hardy away from his glum boredom. His eyes flicked over to a disgruntled Rebecca Irvine. Judging from the look on her face she'd had another less than pleasant encounter with their boss. His colleague hadn't fared much better than the trees. Case after case had slowly plucked away pieces of her puffed up cocky shell until nothing but her barren deflated core remained.

She'd cut him off everything, and he'd long given up to meddle with things he was neither interested in nor wanted for. Regardless, Hardy had witnessed Irvine fumble her way through a series of investigations, culminating in the most recent one which was going nowhere. It wasn't a homicide case but a high-profile burglary in one of the richest homes in Sandbrook.

Hardy had observed Irvine keenly ever since the paperwork had caught his eye. He catalogued where she took the wrong turns on the way to finding a perpetrator but refrained from interfering. It wasn't his case, and she certainly had no intention to involve him. If lives had been at stake, he wouldn't have kept quiet. As it was though, the only thing which could get harmed was some obscure statue of a naked Adam and Eve, and Hardy quite honestly couldn't care less. Following along was more of an exercise to keep his mind busy than anything else.

Until the day Baxter asked him to make his misery go away and fix the shoddy detective work that Irvine was delivering.

"I want you to deal with it. I've had enough lamenting from the owners and the insurance company. I'm done," Baxter complained while they were walking in the park on a chilly October evening.

Hardy slowed to a halt. It was the first time since he'd come back more than three months ago, that Baxter ordered him to take over.

Baxter took a few more steps before noticing that Hardy had fallen behind. He peered over his shoulder, a frown creasing his forehead.

"What? You're not up for it? You look like you've been doing well enough," Baxter stated, his annoyance obvious. "Or are you finally getting that pacemaker?" he challenged a sullen Hardy.

Hardy toed a pebble, avoiding his friend's gaze. Being tied up in work suddenly sounded like the perfect excuse to ward off Emily's constant reminders to schedule the procedure.

"You want me to work a case?" Disbelief echoed in Hardy's question.

Baxter raised his eyebrow. "Bloody hell, Alec. Don't be an arse about it."

"Fine. 'S not like I'm drowning in work," Hardy retorted sarcastically.

Baxter rolled his eyes.

Hardy resumed walking. When he passed by his boss, he stabbed a finger at his chest. "You have to keep Irvine of my back though. Otherwise the deal is off."

Baxter shrugged and nodded. Hardy had the suspicion his boss would do anything for that burglary to go away.

* * *

It took nine days for Hardy to be fed up with the situation. Irvine had done everything to sabotage his efforts in clearing the case efficiently. Despite her stupid games, Hardy had figured it out, and they had arrested a suspect. He had tried to play nice and fed her his reasoning and interpretation of evidence along the way, prompting her to participate. He had stayed in the background, letting her run the show in front of the team. They never realized who had done all the work.

It didn't bother Hardy – after all it was a team effort – but the fact that Irvine either had no shame taking credit or no awareness of what had been going on was irking Hardy. It was impossible to tell what aggravated him more. However, up until the interrogation of the suspect, Hardy had kept his temper under check.

She botched it up.

He had let her take the lead during the interview, but instead of getting a confession, she engaged in emotional back and forth with the suspect. After watching her for a bit, he interrupted the sorry game, dragged her out of the room by her elbow, and had gloriously lost his temper with her. His derisive remark about her questionable investigative skills had earned him a hateful reply that he of all people better not talk about botching up a case. They stared each other down, fuming, until Irvine stormed off and left him to get the confession out of _'her'_ suspect. He'd succeeded in less than ten minutes where she had failed for hours.

They booked the burglar, and Hardy sent his team to retrieve the bloody statue. He had felt more alive than in weeks. It took him a few steady heartbeats to come to the conclusion he was done with babysitting Irvine. Five minutes later, he barged through Baxter's office door, as usual without bothering to knock.

"I can't work with this bloody woman," he blurted out before he noticed said woman sitting opposite Baxter.

He stopped dead in his tracks, a muttered "Fuck" tumbling off his lips.

Baxter inhaled deeply, held his breath, and closed his eyes while his face slowly turned red.

"See. This is what I'm talking about," Irvine remarked coldly. "Utterly unprofessional and overly self-indulgent."

Baxter opened his eyes and let the air out with a groan.

"Quite frankly, what's the point of him being around?" Irvine added with a raised eyebrow. "It's not like he has solved any cases since I started."

Hardy grunted. "You don't like to share the sandbox."

He hated himself for the petulance which exuded his words.

Irvine ignored Hardy, focusing on a squirming Baxter. "I don't see a reason to share a sandbox which is rightfully mine. I accepted this position with the understanding he'd only be around in consulting function and not breathe down my neck all day long."

"If I didn't breathe down your neck during that interrogation just now, we wouldn't have gotten a confession out of him," Hardy argued back.

"Seriously? It's my fault now you didn't have the patience and humiliated me in front of everyone?" she spewed at Hardy, and added while turning back to Baxter. "He dragged me out of the room by my arm like a child. I do not have to take this shit. Not from him and not from anyone. If he ever as much as comes anywhere near me again I will file a complaint."

The accusation of a physical threat didn't sit well with Hardy. Had he gone too far? The anger which had kept him going dissipated. Deflated he sank onto a chair next to Irvine.

"'M sorry," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Her response was a huff while she crossed her arms over her chest.

Baxter's eyes darted from one to the other. Hardy had known him a long time and wasn't fooled by the neutral expression on his boss' face.

"DI Irvine, we had made it very clear from the beginning what the circumstances were under which this position was offered to you. You and DI Hardy are expected to work _together_. There is no arguing about that. Each one of you brings their respective talents to the table."

Hardy's ability to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at the prospect of Irvine's talents was pushed to its limits. Baxter's warning glance motivated him enough to hide behind stoicism. Irvine wasn't as composed.

"If his talent is to stick his nose in my business then-"

"DI Irvine, I would be very careful about what you say next," Baxter warned her. "You agreed to have a more senior person around due to your identified need of gaining more experience on the job. If you now complain about said senior person involving themselves and playing their part, we might have to re-negotiate the arrangement."

Irvine closed her mouth and swallowed whatever protest she had intended to voice. Baxter and her dueled with their eyes until their boss broke the silence.

"Have I made myself clear, DI Irvine?" he demanded quietly.

She nodded, her lips pressed to a thin line.

"You may leave," Baxter dismissed them.

Irvine couldn't get out fast enough, and Hardy didn't blame her. He hurried after her. When he was halfway out the door, Baxter called out,

"A word, DI Hardy."

Hardy caught a glimpse of Irvine's frustrated expression, speaking volumes of her disapproval of Baxter's and Hardy's relationship.

Hardy stayed behind, once again allowing Irvine the satisfaction of slamming a door in his face. Turning, he raked his fingers through his hair and squinted at Baxter.

"What now?" he sighed and plopped onto the chair which was still warm from where Irvine had been sitting.

Baxter laced his fingers together and leaned forward on his desk, closing the distance between them.

"Alec, you can't act like that."

A stern look made Hardy swallow the words of protest at the tip of his tongue.

"If you give her any reason to complain about you, she will do it, and you know it. Don't let her get to you. She is-"

"… a disaster in the interrogation room," Hardy finished Baxter's sentence. "How am I supposed to keep quiet after I did everything I could to stay in the background and let her take credit, and then she botches it up in the end? Hm?" Hardy's eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline. "You're the one who wanted me to deal with this case, and so I did," Hardy defended finally losing his temper with an officer he would have never picked for his team.

He knew he should have stayed calm, but his patience had been tried and tested over and over again. It had worn thin and with it his will power to hide his contempt for his colleague who didn't hold back with openly displaying her own dislike of Hardy.

"I need you to make peace with her," Baxter demanded calmly.

"What?" Hardy croaked.

"I need you to go to her, apologize, and play nice."

"You can't be serious?"

"I am dead serious." Baxter leaned back in his chair. "If you make yourself a target in the current environment, she'll go for your throat. Do yourself a favor and be the better person here."

"I'm not feeling like granting anyone a favor, the least to myself," Hardy grumbled under his breath.

Baxter sighed. "Go talk to her. Smooth it over, try to make a new start."

Hardy rolled his eyes.

"Alec, please?" Baxter begged.

"Fine," Hardy groaned and stood. With a piercing glare, he added, "Don't come crying to me when she screws up her next big case."

He dashed out of the room, leaving a very tired Baxter behind. The door to Hardy's and Irvine's shared office was open. He watched her pace back and forth from afar, trapped in the confined space she'd been put in. Frustration got the better of her, and in one angry swoop she swiped half of the contents off her cluttered desk. A picture frame fell and cracked. Her little boy's happy smiling face had fallen victim to the outburst. She froze and stared at the shattered glass. Then she stooped down, picked up the pieces carefully, and clutched the photograph to her chest. A quick pass of her hand over her eyes gave away the tears no one was supposed to notice.

Hardy wondered if she missed her wee boy as much as he missed Daisy every day. Suddenly, all the squabble they had seemed trivial compared to everything else that was wrong in his life. Sighing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged over to make peace with Irvine. At least one thing he could fix in the travesty his existence had become.

He took care to knock and give her a minute to compose herself before he entered. There was no acknowledgement of his presence while she picked up the scattered papers. He tiptoed around them to his side of the office. Perching on the edge of his desk, he cleared his throat loudly. She paid him no mind. He suppressed a groan.

"Listen, I…" he began, insecure of how to phrase an offering of truce. His fingers tapped the wood which finally got her annoyed enough to pay attention. He made a point of holding her gaze before he continued, "I know this is not what you envisioned a promotion to be like."

Her brown eyes grew a shade darker, but she kept her emotions hidden from her expression.

Squirming, he continued, "We had our differences in the past. Maybe we could put those behind us and try to work together?"

Her eyelids narrowed. "Like you worked together with your wife?" she asked quietly.

"Sorry?" Incredulity brought out his Scottish accent.

His heart skipped a few beats, and he gripped the edge of the desk hard, knuckles turning white.

"You heard me, Hardy. You screwed up the Gillespie case. How did you get to keep your job, while she got thrown under the bus? What little stunt did you and your buddy Baxter pull, ey?" she demanded sharply while standing up.

Hardy's throat tightened. She closed the distance between them and stabbed her finger at him.

"I'm not going to let that happen to me. Do your dirty work and then take the blame when things go to shit. You might have been able to do that with your wife, but I'm not her. Stay out of my way, do you hear me?"

She pivoted on her heels and rushed to the door.

Hardy was shocked. If he'd had any words to say, he wouldn't have been able to utter them.

A hand on the door knob, she looked back with a smirk. "Oh, I meant to tell you… I only gave you the window desk because I thought it might be nice for you to at least get some sun light while you stay here and I go out there to do the real work."

She exited, closing the door dramatically behind her.

Hardy didn't move. He had known that Irvine didn't like him, but the amount of hostility she had thrown at him was more than expected. It was obvious though where it was rooted in. He slowly uncurled his cramped fingers and ran them over his face. His gaze fell on the wall clock. It was only 10:27 A.M., just another six hours to go. Moaning, he pushed himself off the table and plopped down on his chair. He couldn't wait to sit out his time in this office, next to a woman who believed him to be a sexist opportunist who'd rather sacrifice his wife than take responsibility for his own actions.

"At least I got the window," he murmured, tasting the bitterness of his own words on his tongue.

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter is followed by the first and second chapter of "Three Times Christmas" if we are staying consistent with "my Alec's" timeline. I'll post those soon within this story as well. After that we are getting very close to the end of "A Million Holes" – a fact I can hardly believe. Thank you to all who have been following this insane story. A special thanks to FRANZI86, KTROSE and HAZELMIST who have been so supportive and wonderful throughout this. I love you all!


	8. CHAPTER 8

**A/N:** This and the following chapter are the revised chapters which are next in the saga of "A Million Holes". They have been published before – last year as part of "Three Times Christmas". Please be aware that Hardy is going through a rough time in these chapter. He is in dark place in these chapters (and because I want to be fair I'm going to give some TW: mild violence and depression) but it's Christmas so there is some hope at the end of Chapter 9. Also, it's a wee bit dramatic (LOL) and longer than the other chapters. The next new chapter should be up very soon. Thanks to everyone for reading!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8**

 _December 2012_

Hardy woke up, the chilly air creeping into his bones. The heat in his new flat had been a constant source of disgruntlement. He missed the fire place in his old house. He pulled his pillow over his head to muffle the frustrated groan that the image of Dave Thompson cuddled up with Tess in front of a flickering fire evoked.

He rolled over, and his gaze fell on the shiny object on his nightstand. His wedding ring. Last night, he had finally found the courage to take it off. Weeks after the divorce had been finalized. He stared at it, ignoring the pain in his chest and the sting in his eyes. The buzzing of his mobile jerked him out of his gloomy thoughts. Hardy stretched to reach the phone. When he pulled it closer, he accidentally knocked the ring off the nightstand. It fell and landed with a soft clink on the wood floor, spinning to a rest. Hardy watched as it slowed down and eventually stopped. The faint noise rang loudly in his ears. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, then scooted to the edge of the bed, dangled his long arm over the mattress and carefully scooped up what was left from a marriage of almost fifteen years. He palmed the golden band and gently curled his fingers around it.

He dragged his tired body out of bed, shivering in the cold. Then, he padded to his closet, still holding on to the ring. He rummaged through his belongings until he found what he was looking for. It was a small wooden heart shaped box, decorated with glitter and fake gems that were stuck on top of the colorful paint. Daisy had made it for him in nursery school. She had said that Sir Alec needed a treasure box. He flipped the tiny metal lock and placed the ring inside. Maybe one day he'd be able to let go of it for good, but it wasn't today.

His phone went off again. Hardy sighed and squinted at the letters. His far-sightedness seemed to have outgrown the considerable length of his arms. He grabbed his glasses and deciphered the message. Baxter offered him a ride to court. Hardy hesitated, but then accepted. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing to have company. Tess might be there.

It took him longer than usual to settle on a shirt, tie and suit. He didn't feel comfortable in most of his clothes these days as Tess had picked out a lot of them. The weight loss that had come with his heart condition didn't help. He ended up with a dark grey suit that had become his favorite. At least it fit him better than most. The hot shower warmed up his cold body, but he paid for the brief relief with a bout of vertigo that didn't go away until his morning cocktail of pills had taken effect.

His clean-shaven face stared back at him from the mirror, and it was a frightening sight. The beard had helped to conceal the pale, gaunt features that he didn't recognize as his own. He shouldn't have gotten rid of it. Passing his hand over his smooth skin, he wished he still had the scruff to hide behind. He decided against slicking his hair back, letting his fringe fall into his forehead.

He forced himself to eat some toast, fighting the ever-present nausea that came as a courtesy of his potpourri of medications. He had another upcoming appointment with Emily Abbott to discuss the pacemaker placement again. He had been putting it off, not quite seeing the reason why he should take the risk. He hadn't had any major attacks in weeks and he blamed the tiredness on his nightmares and the resulting sleep deprivation. And who would care anyway if he suddenly dropped dead one day? He flinched at the glum thought. He'd been unsuccessfully fighting the effects that his increasing isolation had on him. During his last visit, Emily had given him a questionnaire about depression and when he found himself ticking off one box after the other, he'd taken it, ripped it apart, picked up a new one and given Emily a happier version of his life. One look at her face was enough to realize she didn't buy it, but she also didn't press the issue.

It was time to go, to hopefully close this chapter of his past. To leave the river behind and maybe have a chance to move on. He shrugged on his coat – not the thick woolen one that had been a gift from Tess the past Christmas – made sure he had his pills on him, and left the place he still couldn't call home.

Snow flurries fell softly on his head and got caught in his mop of hair. They didn't stick on the ground, it hadn't been cold enough yet. He stared at the melting white puffy crystals. Last year he'd built a snow man with Daisy, like they had every winter. He hadn't spoken to her for weeks with the exception of the brief phone call on his birthday a few days ago. She had been short with him and in the end cut off the conversation with the excuse she needed to do homework. He had never felt lonelier in his whole life.

"Stop moping about and get in!"

Hardy's head snapped up to be greeted by Baxter's steely grey eyes. He had popped open the door while the car was running and gestured for him to climb in. Hardy dusted off some flakes that were melting already and then slumped onto the passenger seat. He didn't say a word, too caught up in his own world. After they'd passed the first traffic light, Baxter broke the silence.

"Good morning, Ed. Thank you for picking me up." Baxter sounded like he was talking to a child whom he was trying to teach manners to. Hardy rolled his eyes.

"Seriously? You had to do that," he growled.

"Yup. 'Cause it seems you've forgotten how to behave like a normal human being," Baxter retorted seamlessly. Hardy shook his head and stared out the window.

"So, did you think about coming to spend Christmas with us? Louise wants to feed you some of her famous chestnut stuffing. She feels you're getting too skinny with all that rabbit food you're eating," Baxter continued a conversation they'd had last week.

"She said that? I don't believe it. Sounds like something _you_ would say," Hardy argued, shooting his boss a sideways glance.

Baxter smirked. "She might have been influenced by my choice of words."

Hardy snorted in response and Baxter's grin grew wider. "You didn't answer my question."

"I dunno," Hardy sighed. "I wouldn't want to impose. And maybe...," he trailed off, not wanting to reveal the feeble hope he had that Daisy might want to spend Christmas with him. Tess had told him they might have some other plans but she hadn't shared what they were. Hardy had a suspicion that it had something to do with Dave, but until he knew for sure he forbid himself to go down that path.

Baxter gave him a quizzical look, but didn't press the issue. His voice was soft, when he said, "You're always welcome, Alec. You don't have to decide right now."

"Thanks," Hardy mumbled, his eyes trailing the traffic outside. They rode in silence until they reached the court building.

Before they walked in, Baxter held him back. "Alec, whatever happens in there today, remember it wasn't your fault. Don't believe your own lie," Baxter reminded him. They exchanged a brief glance and Hardy dropped his gaze to the floor.

"He's going to plead not guilty, isn't he?" Hardy asked with a quiver in his voice. Baxter's hand clasped his shoulder.

"I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. He didn't want to discuss any deals with the prosecution, so it's a fair assumption," Baxter said evenly.

Hardy dragged his hands down his face. "What if he gets off? I couldn't live with myself."

"Don't think about it. It's only the plea and the case management hearing. A lot can happen in court," Baxter tried to alleviate his anxiety.

Hardy found Baxter's eyes. "I'm not sure I can make it through a full trial, Ed," he admitted quietly. Baxter wasn't fast enough to hide the concern and sorrow from his expression. Hardy caught it before Baxter was able to ban all emotions from his face.

"Don't worry so much. We'll deal with it when... if we have to." Baxter forced a smile and Hardy tried his best to mimic it.

"Aye," he breathed. They walked in, Baxter's warm hand still resting on his shoulder. It couldn't fight off the chill in his bones, but at least it made it bearable.

* * *

Hardy had been in this court room a million times before, but today was different. It could be his last. When he had said to Baxter, he didn't know if he'd be able to withstand a full trial, it hadn't been an exaggeration. He was under no illusion that the only reason why his heart had been reasonably behaved the last few months was due to the utter lack of stimulation and all-encompassing boredom that had become his routine. Baxter had made sure that his tasks at work were not straining and didn't require any major exertion. The talk behind his back that they didn't trust him any more with more complex cases was hurtful to say the least. It fit the picture though they had wanted to paint. The rumor that it was truly his responsibility that the key evidence had been lost had taken firm hold at the Sandbrook nick. The first occasion he had walked into a conversation that was blaming him for everything and how unfairly Tess and Thompson had been treated, his heart almost gave out on him. But he got used to it quickly. Keeping to himself also helped. The only person who remained friendly and often asked how he was doing was Annie Swenson. He was grateful for her timid signs that she cared about him. There were times when her smile was the only thing that got him through a day.

He scanned the crowd nervously. Tess hadn't come. He didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed.

He felt a pair of eyes resting on him. Karen White didn't leave him out of her sight. She had come very close to the truth, but besides rumors and allegation, she had never had enough to prove they had lost evidence. That could soon change if they faced a full trial.

The first row of seats for members of the public was taken up by the family members. Ricky Gillespie had an arm around Cate's shoulder. Her face was flat and her eyes were dull, long unkempt hair hanging down. Hardy knew that she had more and more drifted off into a world of addiction. It pained him to see her like that. He didn't dare think about what a not guilty plea would do to her. Ricky caught him staring at them. His face pulled into a scowl and he tugged Cate closer. There was a clear message written all over his face and Hardy looked away.

Marilyn Newbery sat in the row behind them. Her blond hair was pulled back to a bun and her lips were pressed into a tight line. Her expression didn't give away what might be going on inside. Ashworth had continued to deny vehemently he had anything to do with Lisa's presumed death. They had never found the body, a fact that bothered Hardy immensely. The prosecution had even offered a deal if Ashworth were to reveal Lisa's whereabouts, but he remained silent. It was infuriating.

When he stood for the judge, he had to hold onto Baxter as the room suddenly tilted around him. He sucked in a sharp breath, uncomfortably aware of the too fast heartbeat in his chest. His fingers searched for his pills, unwilling to take the risk of waiting until they could sit down again. He popped them out with one hand and stealthily smuggled them into his mouth. He'd gotten quite good at that.

As soon as everyone had taken their seat, Baxter leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "You all right?"

"'M fine," Hardy muttered under his labored breath.

"Liar," Baxter retorted, but then shut up when they called in Ashworth.

Hardy hadn't seen Ashworth since the day before his world had fallen apart. Prison hadn't left his mark on him yet and he carried himself with confidence. Hardy glared at him, but it didn't seem to faze Ashworth.

Claire Ripley had called him the previous day, panicking about what would happen if Ashworth were to walk free. He soothed her as much as he could. Ever since that day she'd come to him begging for company to go to the clinic, he'd stayed in touch. He knew she was using him for her own purposes, but he had no idea what those were. When he had convinced her to testify against her husband, he'd thought their cat-and-mouse game had been over, even if the winner wasn't clear. He had been wrong. She was still playing with him and he dreaded what a trial would bring out in her.

After the usual formalities had been satisfied, the indictment was posed and Hardy held his breath. His hands kneaded his thighs and his heart was hammering away.

"Lee James Ashworth, how do you plead?" the crown's clerk asked.

Ashworth was standing tall and with a smirk on his face, he stated, "Not guilty."

Hardy's heart stuttered and he couldn't suppress a moaned gasp. Baxter's hand had found its way back onto his shoulder.

"Breathe," Baxter ordered him calmly. "Don't give him the satisfaction of passing out in the court."

Hardy took in a shuddering breath and leaned forward, feeling the pull of Pippa's weight on his arms. He didn't hear any of the proceedings arranging for the trial to take place. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he wouldn't be able to leave the river behind. The noise of the crowd moving out of the court room brought him back. He looked up and met Marilyn Newbery's eyes. Anger was burning quietly in them and it was harder to take than Ricky's loud cursing and thrashing about. Cate was too stunned to react, tears flowing down her face.

Hardy was suffocating. He needed to get out of there. He pushed to his feet and staggered out the door before Baxter could come after him. His fingers desperately clawed at his tie and collar. He ripped the button off and yanked the tie over his head. He made it to the restroom where he stumbled into a stall and vomited into the toilet. Shaking, he slid down the plastic partition wall and buried his head under his heavy arms.

There was a loud noise. The door to the restroom was thrown open and Hardy suspected that Baxter had followed him. He didn't look up which was a mistake. He never saw the first blow coming. Ricky's fist hit him hard on the temple and dazed him instantaneously. His head fell to the side and thudded against the wall of the stall. His body followed, tilting towards the floor. Hardy tried to catch his fall, but wasn't fast enough. His face landed flat on the less than cleanly tiles of the men's restroom. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth made him retch. Before he could pick himself up, Ricky had kicked him in the stomach and against his ribcage, robbing Hardy's lungs of all air.

Hardy groaned and tried to curl up and protect his head with his trembling arms as much as he could. Suddenly, there was shouting and noises of a fight. Baxter's authoritative voice boomed through the room, ordering Ricky to stop. Hardy dared to peek out from under his hands. He had never been happier to see his friend. Two uniformed officers pulled Ricky off of him and away.

"Alec! Talk to me," Baxter demanded, stooping next to him. Hardy couldn't because the pain in his chest was growing and with it the empty feeling that let Hardy know his heart was about to stop.

"Need... AED," Hardy croaked. It surprised him that he remembered Emily's instructions for what he should ask in case something like this happened. Baxter was already way ahead of him. He had Hardy's shirt open and the stickers slapped on before Hardy could even process what was going on. The last thing that Hardy heard was the tinny robotic voice advising to stand back. Then his world went black.

* * *

Hardy woke to the sight of the familiar ceiling tiles in the cardiac ICU at South Mercia University Hospital. His head was throbbing and he couldn't really open his right eye. There was a dull ache in his abdomen and a careful deep breath resulted in sharp pain in his chest. Otherwise he seemed to be in one piece. He ran his hand over his chin. There was only a short stubble. So maybe a day might have passed since he got beaten up at court.

He patted around for the call button, expecting they had left it somewhere close like they always did. He found the remote like device, but accidentally hit the wrong spot. The head of his bed started to move down. He didn't mind, not quite enjoying the raised position they had put him in. He straightened out the mattress and decided to go back to sleep instead of ringing for the nurse, exhaustion making him weary.

* * *

The girl clawed at him, tugging him back into the muddy dark. On all fours, he desperately dug his fingers into the earth between the bluebells. Her dead weight pulled on him relentlessly. His limp body was dragged under the water, and the murky river flooded his lungs. He gagged and retched, fighting to get to the surface but to no avail. His gasps grew weaker and weaker until there was only the rattling noise of air bubbling through the foul liquid.

He woke gasping and coughing violently. Breathing was hard. Much harder than it should have been once he recovered from his nightmare. His body shook with the convulsion of another coughing spell. He doubled over to his side, drowning while he was awake. He panicked, not knowing what was going on. It didn't stop, not even when he expelled the mucous that seemed to have been stuck in his lungs. He opened his hand to wipe away the mess, and his heart almost stopped again when he saw the traces of pink, bloody froth on his palm.

A nurse had come into the room and swiftly plugged the oxygen cannula into his nose. He grabbed at it, feeling suffocated by the air pushing into his nostrils. He hacked up more mucous and tasted more blood in his mouth. The nurse held down his hand, preventing him from yanking at the cannula.

"Mr. Hardy, let me help you please," she pleaded. "You need the oxygen. It's going to make it better. Take a few breaths. Let's sit you up." She pulled at his aching body and held him until she had raised the head of the bed to support him being upright. Then she gently lowered him onto his pillow. His breaths were shallow and quick, but he felt less deprived of air which allowed him to calm down. The lingering drowning sensation was deeply unsettling.

"Are you okay if I leave you alone for a moment?" the nurse wanted to know. "I'm going to get Dr. Abbott."

He nodded, unable to speak. His hands were fisted into the sheets while he forced himself to take measured breaths which were rattling through his lungs. By the time Emily walked in, fear about had grown into frank panic.

"Emily, what's happenin'?" he wheezed as soon as she set foot into the room. She quickly stepped up to his bed, scanning the monitor briefly and frowning. Before she addressed him, she gave some orders to the nurse who rushed out to follow them.

"Emily, please?" he begged weakly.

She finally turned her attention to him, and he knew the news couldn't be good. She smiled, but there was worry in her eyes that she could never hide from him. She pulled a chair over and sat down heavily.

"Alec, do you remember when we talked last time and discussed my concern about your heart losing its strength to pump properly?" she probed carefully. He vaguely recalled her mentioning it, but he had refused to acknowledge anything new as he was still barely able to wrap his mind around having a deadly arrhythmia. He shook his head slowly.

"Why do I feel like I'm drowning?" he asked instead.

"Because you are," she sighed. A puzzled frown appeared on his forehead. "Alec, your lungs are full of fluid because your heart isn't able to pump blood properly. So it backs up into the lungs and causes the fluid to seep into the tissue. All the little air sacs in your lungs are filled with that frothy stuff you've been coughing up instead of with plain air. It's called pulmonary edema."

She stopped and observed his reaction keenly. He stared at her, processing what she had told him. It certainly explained why he felt as if he was breathing through water. Not that an explanation helped to alleviate his fear.

"Why?" was all he could say.

"The attack you had yesterday significantly injured your heart and it's having a hard time recovering. Alec, I'm sorry to tell you, but you're currently experiencing is called acute heart failure. We've been treating you for that," she answered, her voice soft. She couldn't hide the underlying sorrow from her words.

Hardy squeezed his eyes shut. He had been waiting for this moment, ever since the days after Tess' confession. He'd been living with the thought of dying for months, and now that it seemed more real than ever, he was unbelievably scared.

"Is that it then?" he breathed, shutting out the world behind his leaded eyelids.

"No, Alec. It's not. This is treatable. It's an acute process and happens to many people after a cardiac arrest. With some luck and the right medications, we'll get you back in shape so that you can finally get that pacemaker," she replied, putting all her professional conviction in her voice.

"Luck?" he echoed meekly. If it hadn't been so serious, he would have laughed. "Luck?" he scoffed, louder this time and opened his eyes, a feral gaze resting on her pale face. "Seriously? Luck?" he shouted, desperation ringing in his own ears. And then hysteria got the better of him. At first it was a guttural chuckle escaping his throat that morphed quickly into cackling laughter until he lost all air and ended up coughing up more bloody froth. Exhausted he fell back onto his pillow, squinting at a shocked Emily.

"Luck..." – he sucked in a rattling breath - "... left me a long time ago," he wheezed bleakly. His eyes wandered to the ceiling tiles and he began counting, the only thing he could do to keep him sane. He had lost it and he knew it. He didn't know what frightened him more – his failing heart or his failing mind.

Emily's hand found its way onto his shoulder. She reached out, cupped his cheek with her warm hand, and gently turned his head towards her.

"You're wrong, Alec. Luck has not left you, you have forgotten how to recognize it," she said warmly. "Ed was there at the court to save your life, that was lucky. Your heart is reacting favorably to the treatment, that is lucky. You haven't died yet, and if that isn't luck then I don't know what is." Her lips curled up into a grin. "Did you know that the nurses have a running bet going on about how many times you'll try to escape during an admission? Whoever wins doesn't have to take care of you the next time you come around. They all participate and you know why? None of them think you'll actually die because they all can't believe how incredibly lucky you've been so far. They also think you possibly made a deal with the devil, but that's a different story."

Hardy stared at her. Her warm eyes sparkled at him and her broad grin made it hard not to smile. Once again, he thought how young she was and how hopeful her outlook on life was despite all the death and dying that surrounded her.

"I'm not lucky, I'm stubborn," he growled, the corner of his mouth curling up.

Emily laughed. "Yah, that's what the head nurse says too. And she's seen it all." She stood up when the nurse came in to inject the medication that she had ordered. "This is a drug that will help your heart to get rid of extra fluid, especially in the lungs. It's rather strong and I'm sure you'll complain about it, but it's going to make you feel better quickly. Oh, and you shouldn't lie flat until the pulmonary edema has improved, you won't feel like drowning as much. Try to get some rest now." She squeezed his shoulder and gave him another reassuring smile.

Hardy called her name right before she left. "Emily, you know what luck is?"

She looked at him quizzically and shook her head.

"To have you as my doctor," he said sincerely and after a stuttering heartbeat or two, he added, "And as a friend."

Emily smiled, blushed, and gave him a nod. Then she left the room without another word. Hardy let his eyes drift to the ceiling again. The tiles were blurring with his silent tears while he cried himself to his lonely sleep.

* * *

Emily had been right. He hated the new medication. It caused him to go to the loo every half hour which in his current state was a laborious task to complete. By the time he was able to breathe more easily, he had lost every ounce of weight his body could shed together with the extra fluid that was being squeezed out of him. But that wasn't it. One night his blood pressure plummeted, he could barely lift his arms and he was too weak to vomit despite the severe nausea that hit him out of nowhere. His heart slowed down to a crawl and he felt life was seeping out of him with every sluggish contraction of the faulty organ in his chest. All he could do was lie there and be scared. He didn't recover until they replaced all the potassium that his body had been losing with the strong diuretic that Emily had put him on. He'd rarely been as frightened in his life.

Getting rid of the fluid in his lungs only helped so much though. His fatigue and weakness were marked. Emily tried to reassure him, telling him his tests were getting better, but he didn't feel it. It was one thing to deal with the possibility that his heart was prone to acting up, but _knowing_ that it was failing was a different story. He couldn't tell if his sleepless nights were due to the ever-present dream of drowning or his anxiety that made his frazzled mind go in circles.

He'd cried more than once in front of Emily, but his anger was worse. He blew up at the poor nurse for checking his temperature; he barked at the house keeping staff for clunking around with the trash can; he kicked Baxter out of the room for no good reason, and he yelled at Emily to leave him be so that he could die alone like he deserved to.

After he'd done that, Emily fled the scene visibly rattled by his outburst, but soon thereafter she retruned with yet another set of pills.

"What's this now?" he snarled at her, tired of the repetitiveness of his life. All he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry himself to sleep.

"Alec, this is an anti-depressant. I'm very worried about some of the things you've said and how you've been acting," she began. He immediately interrupted her.

"What the fuck are you thinking? That I'm some bloody looney who can't handle his life?" he blurted out, unable to control his temper. She flinched under the onslaught of his anger and paled, but continued with a warmth in her voice that he hadn't earned.

"No, you're not. But you're a person in distress who needs help. Please listen to me before you argue with me. You're not in a good place right now. It's not unusual for people who have a new diagnosis of heart failure to be thrown into depression and anxiety. I've been noticing a change in your mood for a while now, and I think it's reached a point where you need to do something about it. I would get our psychiatrist to talk to you, but I think you would refuse. I told him about you, and he suggested this medication. It's one of the few that is safe with your heart condition."

"The last thing I need is to add a mental health problem to my list of ailments," Hardy grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nobody is adding anything to you record. All I'm asking is for you to think about it," she sighed tiredly, running her fingers through her hair. Hardy felt guilty. Dark circles framed her tired eyes against her pale skin.

"Are you all right?" he asked, suddenly worried about her. She looked at him in surprise. Then she smiled and dropped her gaze.

"I'm fine, Alec. Just feeling a bit under the weather," she replied. Hardy searched her face. He was sure she was lying, but he refrained from being pushy about it. She'd share if she wanted to.

"Will you consider the medication?" He heard the genuine concern in her voice and because he didn't want to upset her even more, he nodded.

Her features brightened up. "Good. That's a start." She stood and with the smile still lingering, she exited his room.

As soon as she had left, tears welled up again and he couldn't help himself but think that maybe she did have a point. His loneliness and despair had been eating away at him for a long time now, and maybe it had finally caught up with him. Not for the first time, he felt like he was staring into a black abyss that was sucking him in and the things that held him back from falling were crumbling away under his weakening grasp.

In a sad attempt at pulling himself together, he wiped at his eyes and sniveled. He would have given anything to go for a walk in the dark night outside. But he could barely make it to the bathroom by himself. He hated what he had become. With a frustrated groan, he hit the light switch and closed his eyes. Time to torture himself again with the illusion of sleep. He hadn't gotten used to the propped-up position that they wanted him to stay in for now. He had tried to lower the bed, but had paid for it with increased shortness of breath. He counted the ceiling tiles in the dim light that filtered through the curtains of the glass sliding door. On his third go around he drifted off to meet the one faithful companion he still had. The ghost of Pippa Gillespie welcomed him to his nightly horror show and in a way the routine was comforting. Almost. Until they drowned together and she left him sputtering and panting in the lonely night.

* * *

The sun was flooding his room, heating up his cold body. He wasn't sure if it was a symptom of the heart failure, but ever since he'd been admitted this time, he didn't seem to be able to warm up. He was bored out of his mind and was seriously contemplating if he was strong enough to leave the hospital. They had taken him off the oxygen this morning without any issues. He had been here four days already. Maybe it was time to give one of the nurses a chance to win her bet.

There was a knock on the glass doors. Hardy startled and jerked his head around, feeling caught in the act. He was surprised to see Emma Baxter stick her head through the opening of the curtain.

"Hiya, can I come in?" she asked, smiling shyly.

He straightened up and beckoned her in. "Emma, what're you doin' here?" he slurred his words, sucking in a breath.

"Dad said that you're here and probably plotting your escape, so I thought I could say hello before you run," she teased, sitting down.

Hardy huffed. "Not gonna do much running, I hate to disappoint your father," he stated glumly.

"Hm. I see. A bit moody today, aren't we?" Emma retorted with a frown. Hardy rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together. He noted the tiny folded up gauze taped to her arm. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

"You're not having any problems, are you?" he wondered out loud, resting his gaze on where they had taken blood from her. She followed his line of sight.

"Oh, that? No. I'm fine. Routine check-up. They test me every six month to make sure I'm still in remission. I've been cancer free for six years now." Their eyes met. It had been around this time of the year when she had nearly died.

"Do you want to talk, Alec?" she asked quietly. Hardy knew that she helped running a leukemia survivor group. She had told him about it when he stayed with them after he had found out about the affair. Emma's support had played a big part in him being able to cope with his new reality of facing a life-threatening illness. She was one of the few people around him who truly understood.

He dragged his fingers down his stubbly face. "Do you really want to hear me complain about my stupid heart again?" he growled.

She tilted her head and pulled down a corner of her mouth. "If you want to share, I'll be happy to listen. That's what I came for," she invited him to talk. She scrutinized him and then added, "My gut tells me though that you might have something else that's troubling you."

He stayed mute, afraid that if he let go, he'd break through the thin ice he'd been walking on. Emma took in a deep breath, making him wonder what was on her mind.

Slowly, she began talking, "I got my first chemo nine years ago, just around Christmas. That was when Daisy gave me her unicorn. I was twelve. I went into remission at first and I was able to continue my life. It wasn't easy. I felt lonely because the other kids couldn't relate. Nobody had ever told them they might die soon. Two years later, I relapsed and my chances of survival where pitiful. My only hope was the bone marrow transplant. The waiting was the hardest. It took them four months to find an appropriate donor. And when it finally was time, I didn't even want it any more. I didn't care about what would happen to me, didn't care about my friends and my family. All I wanted was to hide somewhere and cry. I was done with hospitals, needles, IVs, beeping monitors, and the constant fear that today might be the last day."

Hardy watched the young woman in front of him while she told her tale and stared out the window. She was drawing circles on the mattress, tugging absentmindedly on the sheets. The silence between them drew out until she spoke again.

"The day they told me I relapsed, my world shattered. I had been doing okay with coping, holding onto the hope that I'd be fine. I had returned to school and resumed my drama classes. But the added burden of knowing that my body really was trying to kill me and that there wasn't much they could do besides the vague chance of the bone marrow transplant that might also kill me, was too much. I fell hard and deep. I didn't try to take my life, but I might as well have because I wasn't doing anything to _carry on_ living," she continued quietly.

Hardy tensed up. He remembered how stricken Baxter had been when they learned that Emma's leukemia had come back. One morning, Hardy had found Baxter crying in his car in the parking garage. Emma had been admitted to the hospital because she had refused to eat or drink anything for several days until she collapsed at home. Hardy had tried to comfort his friend, not knowing what to say. All he could do was to take him once again to his ill child and not leave him alone.

"When I was in the hospital, one of the oncologists made me meet another girl my age who had been going through the same. She shared her story and her despair with me. She was the first person I felt who could truly relate to me and reach me in that dark place I was at." She paused and looked him straight in the eye. "And then she told me to stop dying and start living. She told me to face the depression and not give up. She told me to take the medication they wanted me to take. She told me to be patient and believe in a future. And I did. She saved me." Emma concluded her story with a simple statement that carried so much weight.

There was a sad smile on her face. "Megan died a year later, but she never gave up, not until her last day." She sniffed and quickly wiped at her eyes. "I promised her to do the same and I've not broken it. She urged me to help others who are in the same situation." Emma took Hardy's hand and made sure he couldn't avoid her gaze.

"Everyone's path is different and we never know where it goes and when it ends, but every path is worth walking. And if it's leading you to the edge, you must be brave and move on, no matter how much it's pulling you towards the drop," she said firmly.

Hardy swallowed around the lump in his throat. He withdrew his fingers from hers and pressed the heels of his hand on his watery eyes. "I don't know if I can do that," he whispered. "I feel like I'm already falling."

"I know," she admitted. "That's why I came."

Hardy blinked through his tears. "What do I do?" he breathed, his voice breaking.

"Have you considered taking medication? I had a hard time accepting the idea that that was okay and didn't brand me as a looney."

Hardy snorted. "Like I need another diagnosis."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But after a few weeks of shoving more pills into my body, I saw it differently. Because it worked. It took a while and it was hard to be patient, but I'm glad I stuck it out."

"My doctor wants me to take anti-depressants," Hardy admitted reluctantly.

"Good. She seems to know what she's doing. You should give it a try, Alec. You might be surprised." She smiled again.

"Hm," was his sole response. He didn't know why it scared him so much to face the reality.

Emma stood. "So, are you coming for Christmas? Dad said he invited you."

"Dunno. Don't wanna impose," Hardy mumbled.

"Nonsense. You're always welcome. It's better than being alone. Think about it," she urged him. "Take care of yourself, Alec. And I mean it." She left him with a radiant smile and a reassuring nod.

When he signed himself out two days later, he didn't only leave the hospital with three new medications but also with a fourth bottle that was hopefully going to help mend his broken heart in a very different way.


	9. CHAPTER 9

**A/N:** This and the previous chapter are the revised chapters which are next in the saga of "A Million Holes". They have been published before – last year as part of "Three Times Christmas". Please be aware that Hardy is going through a rough time in these chapter. He is in dark place in these chapters (and because I want to be fair I'm going to give some TW: mild violence and depression) but it's Christmas so there is some hope at the end of Chapter 9. Also, it's a wee bit dramatic (LOL) and longer than the other chapters. The next new chapter should be up very soon. Thanks to everyone for reading!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 9**

 _Christmas Eve 2012_

It was snowing, and his ragged breaths formed white little puffs in front of his mouth. Hardy was slowly dragging his feet along the icy sidewalk. This was his first Christmas as a divorced man while someone else took his place next to his daughter and ex-wife. Tess had deprived him of the opportunity to spend time with Daisy over Christmas. They were going away, she had said, down South to see fucking Dave's parents. And even worse, Tess had claimed Daisy didn't want to see him.

His fury at the situation was only matched by the all-encompassing feeling of loneliness. More and more he felt like he had nothing left in his life. Daisy was often the only thing that kept him going. But now that she was more withdrawn than ever, it was hard to hold on to that.

He stopped, needing to catch his breath. His heart condition had deteriorated ever since his last major attack after Lee Ashworth pleaded not guilty. He shuddered at the memory of Ricky Gillespie coming after him. Hardy was ashamed that he'd been too weak to fight off being beaten up in a bathroom stall at court. Luckily, Ed Baxter had been around to pull Ricky off of him. The black eye, bleeding nose, and the bruised ribs hadn't been an issue, needing CPR in front of half of his colleagues had though. He had passed out and the portable AED – besides shocking him back into a more normal rhythm – had advised to give chest compressions. Six days later he had discharged himself from the hospital with Emily joking that his unruly behavior had at least the advantage that she never needed to do all the extensive discharge summary writing.

That was three weeks ago. Since then he had been placed on medical leave, even Baxter couldn't save him from that. It was probably for the better as his heart had taken a serious hit this time around. More so than with all the other episodes that had landed him in A&E. In the end, he had left the hospital not only with his usual medication but three additional pill bottles to help with the new-onset heart failure. He also left ten pounds lighter after losing all excess water weight his body might have had and barely able to walk for more than half a mile without falling over and gasping for air.

His flat was yet another mile away, cold and uninviting. It was Christmas Eve and the last thing he wanted to do was be home alone. He took a few more steps and sacked against a wall. He shouldn't push himself further. If he didn't make it there, who would care anyhow? He tried to pull himself together, fighting the pull of the blackness of his depression. At least he had the willpower to resist. Emma had been right. After about three weeks of taking the anti-depressants he saw his mood changing. He was still lonely, and it was killing him to be without his family, but the dark abyss that had been sucking at the very core of his soul was losing its draw. He had found energy to get up in the morning, to get out of the house and try to take his life back. The other medications were doing their job as well, helping his ailing mind by letting him breathe more easily and increasing his stamina.

Emily had instructed him to follow up with her twice a week which he had been doing obediently. He had seen her the day prior and she seemed content with what she saw. Or at least that was what he wanted to believe. She had brought up the pacemaker again, teasing him that it could be his New Year's resolution to finally get it done. He followed her innocent remark with a bad joke, saying that she should not have put him on the anti-depressants if she wanted him to commit suicide. She didn't find that funny at all. In fact, he had made her cry. He had never managed to do that before, at least not to his knowledge, and he felt tremendously guilty. He apologized for being an arse, and she apologized for being unprofessional. And then she told him that she was pregnant and had been a little on the emotional side.

Hardy hadn't known what to say. He was happy for her, but also extremely anxious about losing her as his doctor. He congratulated her, rather subdued. She picked up on it quickly. She had told him not to worry and that while she was out on maternity leave, he would still be welcome to talk to her. Hopefully by the time the baby would come he'd be better and have the pacemaker placed already. He didn't want to burst her happy bubble. He had no intention to proceed with the pacemaker, not until Ashworth's trial was over.

She had asked him what he was going to do for the Holidays. He shrugged and admitted to not knowing. Both Baxter and Duncan had invited him, but the thought of being with another happy family was worse than the thought of being alone. At least he had assumed so. Now, that he was walking the deserted streets all by himself in the dark, he wasn't so sure any more. Breathing heavily, he fished his phone out of his pocket and looked for Duncan's number. He hovered over the call button, then changed his mind. He didn't want to spoil the kids' Christmas Eve. He scrolled until he found Baxter's info. Before he could lose courage, he dialed.

It rang a few times and then Baxter picked up. Christmas carols were playing in the background. "Alec? You all right?" There was concern in Baxter's voice, grown from the fact that lately Hardy only called him when he was in trouble.

He cleared his throat. "'M fine. Don't worry. I was just..." He paused, not quite knowing how to invite himself for Christmas Eve. He didn't have to.

"Do you want to come over?" Baxter asked softly, reading his mind.

Hardy hesitated. Did he really want to intrude on his friend's holiday time? He would be an outsider and only be thinking of what he had lost. He'd do the same though, if he were by himself, allowing the ever-present abyss to suck him into its gaping dark of never-ending sorrow and despair. He shuddered.

"Alec, where are you? I'll come and get you. I don't want you to be alone tonight, all right? Please, let me do this, let me be your friend," Baxter pleaded with him.

"You don't have to. I can get a car," Hardy mumbled, frozen to the bone and barely able to get a word out between his chattering teeth. His boney body seemed unable to keep in any warmth. He leaned against the wall of the building next to him. The tugging in his chest had turned into pain, and Hardy knew he had overdone it with his lonely walk. He moaned, propped the phone between his ear and shoulder, and fished out his pills.

As usual, Baxter had sharp ears and picked up on his distress immediately. "Alec, I can tell you're not fine. Once again, where are you? I'm gonna come and get you. You won't get a taxi easily tonight."

Hardy squinted at the house to see the number, but his vision was getting too blurry. He slid down the wall, sitting in the snow, knees pulled up and one arm wrapped around his torso.

"If you don't tell me where you are right now, I'll have them trace your phone and send 999 out there," Baxter shouted at him, waking him from the foggy haze he was drifting off to. He idly noticed that the music in the background at the other end of the line had been replaced by the sound of a running car.

The threat worked. He pulled himself together as much as he could, ignoring the increasing shortness of breath. "I'm on Nelson Street, can't read the number, about a mile from my flat."

The urgency in Baxter's voice grew. But he wasn't talking to Hardy. "He says he's on Nelson, a mile from his place. Can you figure out where it could be?"

A muffled response filtered through the speaker. "I'm on it. Keep him talking. You're sure we shouldn't call an ambulance, Dad?"

It must be Emma who was with him in the car. Hardy felt awful, ruining their Christmas Eve.

"Alec, do you remember the last cross street?" Baxter addressed him again.

"Ed... you don't... have... to do... this. I'm... sorry... shouldn't... have... called," he muttered breathlessly.

The muddy snow had soaked through his bottom and the cold was burning him.

"Nonsense. You're coming to our house. Should have fetched you earlier. Stay where you are."

 _Ha,_ that was easy. He couldn't get up anyway. His whole body was shaking with the chill invading his bones. His mind was getting sluggish. "So cold...," he wheezed into the speaker. His fingers were stiff with frost and he almost dropped the phone.

"Alec, don't fall asleep. Are you sitting down?" When Hardy didn't answer, he repeated his question, shouting this time and breaking through Hardy's stupor.

"Aye."

Baxter cursed. "Alec, can you get up and walk around a little, warm yourself up?"

Hardy tried, but he lacked the strength and tilted over, unable to prop himself up. The phone clattered to the ground, too far for him to reach. He heard Baxter talking while his vision blurred more and more until he succumbed to the urge to close his eyes. His addled mind gladly embraced the hypothermia induced illusion of soft warmth surrounding him and his body slumped into the icy snow.

* * *

"God damn it, he's not answering any more." Baxter gripped the steering wheel harder. "How long till we get there?"

"A few minutes, best guess. We don't know exactly where he is. Turn right here, we can drive down Nelson towards his place." Emma pointed towards the direction she suggested.

Baxter berated himself. "I shouldn't have left him alone tonight. Stupid. Should have known better. Of course, he wouldn't take it well."

"Dad, you can't force him. He's too stubborn for that. He called, that's a big step for him." Emma put her hand on his arm. "We'll get there in time. Don't worry."

"Emma, I'm not sure if you understand how ill he actually is right now." His concern made his tone sharper than he had intended. "His doctor called me yesterday and told me how worried she is after she saw him in her office. The heart failure is barely under control, and he can't even walk half a mile without getting into trouble. Who knows what he did to himself, wandering around in the cold?"

Emma sighed. "Is he taking the anti-depressants?"

"What?" Baxter was immediately alarmed.

"Oh, you didn't know. I probably shouldn't talk about it then."

Emma shot her father a sheepish glance whose distress was reaching another level by now.

"Seriously? Out with it, or I'm going to lose my shit here."

Emma squirmed in her seat. Then she spilled the whole story, how Hardy had told her that his doctor recommended to take medication for depression and how he didn't want to because he wasn't a looney. Reluctantly, she told her father how she had shared her own experience of her life-threatening illness and her struggle with depression. In the end, she had convinced Hardy to at least try the medication for a few weeks to see what would happen.

"God, I had no idea. I mean, I always suspected as much, but it's different if you know it." Baxter couldn't hide the tremble in his voice. This man was such a mess and so reluctant to accept any help, it was infuriating.

"Dad, stop! I think I saw him."

Baxter hit the brakes hard, sending the car skidding on the snowy road. He pulled over, and they both hurried to the man slumped against the wall of a building. Hardy was lying in the muddy icy slosh of the sidewalk, clothes soaked, and a fine layer of snow dusting his coat. He wasn't moving. Baxter's heart sank.

He stooped down, shaking Hardy's shoulder.

"Alec?" he said, and then louder, "Alec!" He felt for Hardy's pulse. It was slow – so slow – but at least it was there. Hardy's chest movements were shallow, but again, at least he was breathing. His skin was ice cold under Baxter's warm hands.

"Thank God, he's alive," Baxter muttered. Emma let out a long sigh of relief. Again, He shook Hardy gently, knowing very well that startling his friend might set off his heart. But he had to wake him up.

Hardy moaned, and his eyes fluttered open for a second. Baxter could only guess that Hardy's slurred words indicated that he was too cold.

"Emma, help me to get him into the car, he needs to warm up."

They both crouched down and each grabbed one of Hardy's arms. They pulled him up and Baxter couldn't help but notice that he felt even bonier than the last time he had dragged him half-dead to his car. This was becoming an unhealthy habit.

They managed to get him there and shove him into the passenger seat. The heater was better there than in the back. Emma started the engine and put the air on full blast while Baxter pulled off as many wet pieces of Hardy's clothing as he thought was reasonable. Coat, jacket, shirt, and T-shirt. He debated a moment if he should take off Hardy's trousers. Another shudder running through Hardy convinced Baxter they needed to go. Baxter peeled off his own sweater and shirt and tugged them over Hardy's head and naked torso. It was a struggle to get the clothes on Hardy and hold him up at the same time, as Hardy was limply falling over, not having the strength to hold himself up. Baxter shivered in his undershirt, but he didn't care. He draped his coat over Hardy's bare legs, buckled him in, checked his pulse one more time, and made sure the heater blow was aimed at him. Emma had come around and added her own coat, covering Hardy's chest and shoulders.

They got into the car and drove off. By the time, they reached their house some color had returned to Hardy's cheeks, or at least they went from grey to his normal pale complexion. He moaned and moved in his seat, his teeth chattering. When Baxter opened the passenger side door, Hardy's eyes popped open.

Once they focused, Hardy muttered, "'M sorry."

Baxter cringed at how distraught his friend was.

"For God's sake, Alec. Stop being sorry all the time and start listening to people in the first place before getting yourself into trouble," Baxter snapped at him, exasperated from having to rescue his friend one too many times.

Hardy stared at him with those wide hazel eyes of his which never failed to remind Baxter of a forlorn puppy.

Baxter sighed. "It's all right. I should have insisted on you spending the Holidays with us."

Hardy moved and the coat slid off his legs. He frowned.

"Where are my trousers?" Eyeing Baxter and himself more closely, he added, "Is this your sweater? And shirt?"

Baxter grinned and nodded. "It sure is. We had to strip you or you would have been an ice lolly."

Hardy's gaze fell on Emma and his ears turned bright red. He clumsily pulled the coat back over his naked legs, looking everywhere but at the young woman. Baxter locked eyes with his daughter and they both started laughing.

"Oi, 's not funny, seriously," Hardy protested meekly, but then the corner of his lips curled up in a tiny smile. Emma went inside the house to get some of her father's jogging bottoms. She handed them to Hardy and left the garage to give Hardy an illusion of privacy. Baxter stayed behind, watching his friend with hawk's eyes. His movements were slow and labored, even with such an easy task like dressing himself. It was painful to see him like that.

"Emily called me yesterday."

Hardy stopped dead in his tracks. He intently studied the reindeer pattern of Baxter's ridiculous Christmas jumper which hung loosely from his too skinny frame.

"Did she now? Still not adhering to patient confidentiality then I guess. Should really report her one of these days," he said while idly picking on a reindeer's red nose.

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were finally past keeping secrets all the time."

Baxter didn't try very hard to hide the hurt in his voice. Hardy lifted his gaze and looked him straight in the eye. Remorse was written all over his face.

"I know I should have talked to you. I just couldn't." He inhaled and dragged his hands over his stubbly cheeks. Feral eyes fixed on Baxter, the dam broke and Hardy spilled what he'd been holding back for too long.

"It's so overwhelming. I barely got used to the idea of having this bloody arrhythmia, holding on to the illusion I could possibly control it with medications and get away with it. And then I get beaten up in court for something I didn't do while bloody Ashworth stands there, healthy and untouched by all the pain he's caused. My fucked-up heart is failing and they sent me home with all these new pills that make me feel like shit and I can barely go for a walk without falling over. Daisy doesn't want to see me, not even at Christmas, and they are going to fucking Dave's parents' house and everything seems so hopeless and it's getting worse and worse and I can't –"

As abruptly as he had started, he stopped, hiding his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Baxter didn't know where to begin to console his friend. Maybe he should hug him. So, he did. He walked over to where Hardy was perched against the hood of the car. He pulled him into a tight embrace and let him cry against his shoulder. Hardy's body was cold and it made Baxter shiver in his undershirt. Remembering what Emma had revealed, he was determined not to let him be alone, at least not until he could assure himself that Hardy wasn't going to do something drastic.

When the sobs slowed down, he loosened his arms and pushed Hardy away, far enough so that he could look him into the eyes. "You can get through this. You're stronger than you think you are. Stay with us for a few days, I'm not leaving you alone, not like this. No discussion."

Hardy wiped at his face and nodded. Very quietly he admitted, "I think I shouldn't be."

A shiver ran down Baxter's spine. This was as close as his friend had ever come to sharing his darker thoughts since he nearly died after Tess' confession. It scared the hell out of Baxter, but he had dealt with his daughter's depression during her illness, so he was going to deal with this now.

"All right, that's settled then." Baxter resorted to being pragmatic, his fail safe for all disaster. "Let's get you in front of the heater and feed you some food. I bet you didn't eat anything today, knowing how shitty you are at taking care of yourself."

Hardy gave him a sheepish look and rubbed the back of his head.

"No, I didn't. All the medications make me feel nauseated a lot," he grumbled. Then he cursed under his breath.

"What?"

"I don't have my pills with me, Ed. I can't really skip them." An angry scowl scrunched up his face, and he scuffed the ground with his muddy shoe. He looked like a school boy who got kicked off the football team.

Baxter put his arm around his shoulders and led him into the house. "Don't worry. We'll get you warmed up and fed, then we'll go back to your place and pick up what you need. I don't mind at all. All right?"

Tension fell off Hardy's wiry body when finally accepted his friend's genuine offer to take care of him. The harsh light in the hallway didn't flatter him, and the exhaustion of the day showed in his drawn face. Baxter did his best to ignore the dark circles under Hardy's eyes which were stark contrast to his pale complexion. HE ushered him to their living room, pushed him down onto the sofa next to the Christmas tree, tossed him a few blankets, and went to the get some of the leftover food. He briefly talked to his wife, Louise, explaining his plan. She was more than happy to have Hardy as a guest for as long as needed. She fixed him a plate for their visitor, and when Baxter returned to the living room he found Hardy sound asleep under a bundle of blankets, hugging a pillow. Sighing, Baxter put down the plate and tucked the blankets tighter around him.

He watched over Hardy for a while, taking reassurance in Hardy's measured breaths. He had no desire to wake him up to go back to his flat, out in the cold, but he understood the need for Hardy to take his medication in time. Mulling over his options, an idea sparked his mind. Maybe Hardy had a list of his pills in his wallet which would allow him to go to Hardy's flat by himself and pick up the things they needed.

He rummaged through Hardy's pockets and found what he was looking for. As soon as he opened up Hardy's wallet, he dropped it like a hot potato. There was a photograph of Pippa Gillespie where there should have been one of Daisy. He stooped down and stared at it. He had had no clue that Hardy was so obsessed with the case that he would carry around a picture of the dead girl. It didn't only bother Baxter immensely, but saddened him at the same time. He took in a deep breath, trying not to jump to conclusions, but it seemed unhealthy. He would have to talk to him about it. However, not today or tomorrow. The man deserved a break from his demons.

Baxter picked up the wallet again, and to his surprise he found what he was looking for. A neatly written list with all the many medications, how often Hardy needed to take them, and the phone numbers of who to notify in case of emergency - Baxter, Emily Abbott, and Tess to reach Daisy. It wasn't Hardy's hand writing and he strongly suspected it was Emily who had supplied him with this detailed information. He found Hardy's keys as well, told his family his plan, and off he went on his eternal quest to help his friend.

* * *

When Hardy woke up, he felt warm and more rested than he had in days. A moment of disorientation passed when he remembered what had happened. He sat up in the dimly lit room. The lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft glow onto a covered plate and a glass of water placed on the coffee table. Next to it were his phone, glasses, wallet and keys. And a note. He grabbed his glasses and the piece of paper.

 _Alec,_

 _There's some food for you if you should wake up hungry. Feel free to get anything in the fridge or kitchen you want. Tea's in the cabinet to the left of the stove. Your clothes are in the dryer. I brought some of your stuff and your medications. They are in the hold all next to the table. We can go back tomorrow for whatever else you may need. Hope you don't mind me going to your place without you. If you get tired of the sofa, the guest room is down the hall, last door to the left, in case you forgot. Bathroom is the last door to the right._

 _See you in the morning. Don't eat Father Christmas' cookies!_

 _Happy Christmas!_

 _Ed_

Hardy smiled and put the note down. He was touched. It had been a while since someone prepared food for him. Let alone helped him to take care of himself. He reached for the hold all and dug out his medications. It was way after midnight, and all his regular times were off. He knew if he took all the pills together, it would make him miserable. He had tried before in a moment of feeling rebellious against the constraints of his sorry life. He dragged his hands over his face and embarked on the tedious task of deciding what could wait and what couldn't. He settled on three, deferring the others until the morning. Louise's food was delicious and he managed to eat some before getting too nauseated. After he cleaned up his plate in the kitchen, he collected his belongings to move to the guestroom.

It was the same room he had occupied when he had come back from the hospital after he had learned about Tess' affair and the pendant. Things hadn't gotten better since then. His decision to take the blame had been heavily based upon his belief he wouldn't survive for very much longer. Seven months later, he was still around. He had had many close calls, the one tonight included. In those rare moments where he was truly honest with himself, he regretted his decision. He never could have predicted the ill effect it had on his relationship with Daisy. If it hadn't been for Baxter and Duncan, he would have given up a long time ago. They kept an eye on him and didn't let him get away with shit.

He plopped down on the bed and pulled the warm blanket over his cold body. Unable to lie flat despite having the pulmonary edema mostly under control, he propped himself up with a few pillows. Sleep didn't come. Restless, he got up again and trudged back into the living room. He eyed the cookies. He hadn't had cake or any sweets in a long time.

He paid for his crime with crumbs all over his sheet, but it had been worth it. Snuggled in under the covers, he closed his eyes, hoping like every night not to be plagued by nightmares. Maybe Father Christmas would grant him that wish despite him nicking his cookies. He didn't, and like every day, Christmas morning was no exception. Hardy woke choking, coughing, and sputtering, haunted by Pippa's ghost.

When his mind came back to the here and now, he was greeted by cheesy Christmas music floating through the house. Baxter was singing along with "Last Christmas" and Emma yelled at him to shut up. Baxter sang louder and made an effort to be as off key as he could be until Louise put an end to it. Hardy smiled at the happy family banter. Despite being rattled by his dream, he enjoyed the fact that he wasn't quite alone in this world.

The smell of roasting meat watered his mouth, and surprisingly he was hungry. He was still wearing Baxter's ridiculous reindeer jumper and the jogging bottoms which were way too big for him. He stuck his head out of the room to see if the air was clear for him to sneak into the bathroom without being noticed. He wasn't stealthy enough.

"Ah, sleeping beauty has risen!" Baxter exclaimed from the kitchen door way. Hardy stepped out into the hallway, rubbing the back of his head.

"You know it's after noon already, right?" Baxter teased.

Hardy's mouth gaped open. He hadn't slept that much in months. Maybe his wish had been granted after all. He was shaken out of his thoughts by a pair of trousers landing in his face.

"Here. You've got time for a shower and to get dressed, before we eat." When Hardy pulled the clothes off his head, there was a flash. He glared at a grinning Baxter.

"For my blackmail collection." Baxter smirked, waving the camera.

Hardy groaned and rolled his eyes. He picked up the clothes and trudged into the bathroom. He peeled off the reindeer sweater and the jogging bottoms. The skinny man in the mirror was still the same, but he held himself a bit straighter today, and with some imagination his face didn't look as pale as it had yesterday. And when he put on the new suit that he had bought for himself and the light blue shirt, he could almost pretend that life was all right. Not great, but also not utter misery.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking, Alec? What was that even supposed to _be_?" Baxter cried out in frustration and snatched the piece of paper from his forehead. Emma and Louise were giggling, huddled together on the sofa.

"You know, walk like an Egyptian." Hardy pouted. He folded his lanky arms in an awkward angle and shuffled through the living room.

"Egyptian? What the..." Baxter glared incredulously at Hardy while he squinted at the scribbles on the paper. "Cleopatra? Seriously, you couldn't come up with anything better than _this_?" Baxter imitated Hardy's poor attempt at portraying an ancient hieroglyph.

Emma actually fell to the ground, she was laughing so hard and Louise wiped at her tears. The two men had proven themselves as the worst charades players in history and it had been a spectacle to watch them.

"You're awful at this," Baxter complained.

"Oh, and you think you're so much better, ey?" Hardy snarled back. They hadn't scored one single point, even missing what the women had thought would be a dead shoe in for them – Sherlock Holmes. Still, Hardy had to admit it had been fun to entertain Baxter's family with his sorry attempts at acting out famous figures of the world. He hoped Baxter wasn't going to fire him over this utter failure. He eyed his scowling friend's face and a small grin played over his lips.

"Oi, I'm still your boss," Baxter grumbled.

"Not right now. I'm on leave." Hardy smirked and escaped Baxter's death stare into the kitchen where Louise was hiding the cookies. He really shouldn't indulge, but it was hard to resist the temptation. He had one hand in the cookie jar, when his phone rang.

All temptation was quickly forgotten when he saw who was calling. He fumbled with the handset and almost dropped it.

"Darlin', how are you?" he greeted his daughter softly.

"Hi Dad. I'm okay, I guess," Daisy answered without much enthusiasm.

Hardy's heart fell. A suspicion that Tess had made her call rather than her wanting to speak to him grew inside.

"So, how's Brighton?" he asked to bridge the silence.

"Boring," came her monosyllabic answer. Hardy frowned and started pacing through the kitchen. He contemplated how much longer he could hold back and ask her if Tess was the only reason why they were talking. His patience didn't last very long.

"Daisy, did your mother make you call? You don't have to if –"

"Dad! Why would you say that?" she exclaimed indignantly.

Because she hadn't been calling. Because she barely talked to him the few times she had. Because she didn't want to _see_ him.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," was all he said instead, hiding his hurt feelings. He had made a choice and had moved out of the family home, leaving her behind with her mother. What was he expecting?

"It's all right, Dad. It's my fault. It's not like I have been in touch a lot lately." Hardy stopped and leaned against the counter, shoving one hand in his pocket. He didn't like the downbeat tone in her voice.

"Daisy, what's wrong?" he queried gently.

There was only breathing on the other side and he wondered if she was crying.

"Darlin', please talk to me," he pleaded, head hanging low. He hated that he couldn't be there and hold her in his arms.

"I don't like being here," she blurted out eventually. "Mum's trying to impress Dave's parents. If I dare say anything, she's laying into me. And I can't stand listening to her telling them how _great_ Dave is, how much more _involved_ he is in the family, not like her negligent ex-husband. Mind you she's talking about a guy who left his wife and two little children to be with Mum. How involved does that make him in _that_ family? I hate it," she spat. Hardy had to sit down. He was glad that she opened up to him, but in her anger she was completely oblivious of what her words meant to him.

"I'm sorry, darlin', that you had to go there with them. I had told your mother you could spend Christmas with me, but she said you didn't want to." He wasn't sure how that would console her, but it slipped out before he could hold back.

"What? I never said that. The only thing I mentioned was that maybe you're not up for having me around after what happened at court a few weeks ago," Daisy cried out.

It was easy to tell how mad she was. He cursed Karen White for writing that horrendous article about the poor father of the victim seeking his just revenge by beating up the detective in charge. It escaped Hardy's comprehension how battering him was _just_ , but the public seemed to have latched onto it.

"Oh, Daisy," he sighed. "I would have loved nothing more than having you with me. Christmas without you isn't the same."

"Don't get soppy, Dad," she warned him. After a few more silent moments, she added, "Did you get hurt?" There was a quiver in her voice that tugged on Hardy's heart.

He rubbed his fingers over his tired eyes. Daisy still didn't know about his heart condition. He had never told her. "'M fine. Don't worry so much."

"Seriously? You get beaten up so badly that you need to go to the hospital and you want me not to worry. How could I not?" She was truly upset and Hardy cursed the damn press. He was glad though that Karen White hadn't heard about the real reason why he ended up in the ICU.

"I'm _fine_ ," he emphasized. "A black eye and bloody nose, that was all. It's all gone by now." He cringed at the white lie. "When are you coming back?" he asked to distract from the uncomfortable subject of his health.

"After New Year's. Mum and Dave are bribing me with a trip to London."

Hardy smiled at her barely hidden excitement. "Oh, that is nice," he said, making an effort to sound enthusiastic.

"Dad, you don't have to pretend. I know you miss me. I miss you too," she admitted quietly. Hardy squeezed his eyes shut again. It was too hard to hear her say it. "Why can't I come live with you, Dad?" she wanted to know for the millionth time.

Tess and he had agreed it would be better for Daisy to stay in her familiar environment, the house she grew up in. But that wasn't the main reason. Hardy had made it very clear to Tess that he might not be able to take proper care of his child due to his health. The thought of Daisy finding him dead in his bed or the shower or wherever his crummy heart decided to give out on him for good was terrifying him. Tess had argued that if he was that worried then he should finally go ahead with that bloody pacemaker and be more involved in his daughter's life. He had said nothing to that, unable to share with her how poor his chances really were.

"Daisy, you know why. It's better for you to be with your mother. I can barely take care of myself," he said meekly.

"Exactly, that's why I should be with you. You're shit at that and I could help," she retorted.

"Language," he said reflexively, not even meaning it. He wanted nothing more than to be with his child, but reason told him it was the right thing to shield her from his misery.

"Ugh," she groaned.

"Tell you what. When you're back, let's have tea at Mary's and then we'll come up with a plan so I can see you more often?" he suggested as a peace offering. A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have had any willpower to make such plans. But things were changing. At least he hoped so.

"All right," she conceded. "Where are you anyway? You're not alone, are you?" she added, worry clouding her voice.

He smiled and got up. "No. I'm not. I'm at Ed Baxter's house. They invited me over."

"Oh, I'm glad that you're hanging out with them. What have you guys been doing?"

Hardy's smile grew wider while he stuck his hand in the cookie jar. "Playing charades," he revealed.

"Oh, my gosh, who's the unlucky one who got stuck with you?" she chuckled.

"Ed. I think he's regretting that he let me stay here. We missed Sherlock Holmes."

"You always do. You're so _bad_ at this, it's unbelievable. I remember last year when you got Cleopatra and you did this – I don't even know what that was supposed to be," she went on, reminiscing about his sorry exploits.

"Walk like an Egyptian, that's what it was. Ed didn't get it either," he mumbled while chewing the cookie.

"You tried that again? I don't know what to say," she huffed.

"It makes people laugh," he admitted. There was a pause on the other end.

"Dad, don't tell me you've been deliberately acting like an idiot every time we played charades?" she asked suspiciously.

He grinned. "It's a possibility one cannot exclude," he stated cryptically.

"Oh, my God, you have, haven't you?" she squealed. "You're impossible."

He hadn't, he truly sucked at the game, but he was pleased with the ambiguity, enjoying the carefree back and forth. He was about to say something when he heard Tess' muffled voice on the other end.

"Dad, I have to go. They're having supper and Mum wants me there," she sighed.

"It's all right, darlin'. I'm glad we could chat. Ring me when you're back and we'll have tea. Say hello to your mother," he said, hiding the disappointment from his voice.

"I'm glad too. Happy Christmas, Dad. I love you." Her voice was warm.

"Happy Christmas, Daisy. I love you too, always." He ended their call, feeling more hopeful than he had in weeks. Emma had been right, it was time to stop dying and start living again.


	10. CHAPTER 10

**A/N:** Thank you everyone for sticking around all this time. We are entering the last act of the saga that "A Million Holes" has become… the final stretch of the Sandbrook debacle. This chapter may feel short compared to the two prior but I made a decision not to break those up. I hope you guys will not feel too put off. Thanks to KTROSE for taking a look at my mistakes. Whatever is left is mine. And thank you to a certain cinnamon roll for watching me write and support this silly endeavor while all you want is for me to continue Compass (you and everyone else). 333

* * *

 **CHAPTER 10**

Hardy stared in the mirror. He had shaved for the first time in weeks and it felt all wrong. His bare cheekbones exposed his haggard features. The man looking back at him was so much older than he remembered. Water ran over his hands, dripping down his long fingers. It mesmerized him. A faint weight tugging on his arms stooped his shoulders and he let his weary head hang down. He closed his eyes briefly, took in a deep breath, and raked his wet digits through his bangs. It didn't help much for slicking back the shaggy mop, but at least he'd tried. He popped a couple of his pills and hoped they would last him through the testimony.

When he stepped away from the sink, he passed by the stall where Ricky Gillepsie had beaten him up in December. He hesitated briefly to gather his thoughts and then left the men's room with his disturbing memories behind.

"That took you a while. You all right?" Baxter asked with too much concern in his voice.

"'M fine," Hardy grunted and swiftly walked by his boss toward the area where he'd been waiting to be called for the past days since Lee Ashworth's trial had started. Neither one of them had been inside as they both had been named as witnesses for the crown. The Gillespies had given their testimonies, and so had Marilyn Newbery. Claire Ripley hadn't been called yet. The trial was moving on to the detectives who had worked the case. Hardy as SIO was first in line.

It should be routine, but he had never been as tense in court as he was today. He was pacing up and down in front of the bench Baxter had picked as their spot. His fingers drummed an endless rhythm of anxiety on his trouser legs.

"Alec, you need to calm down or you won't last," Baxter admonished him quietly. He was serious though.

Hardy shot him a sideways glance and continued his futile attempt at walking it off. When he saw Philippe Barnstein, the CPS prosecutor, come his way, he stopped and his body stiffened.

"They are going to call you shortly, DI Hardy." Barnstein looked him up and down. "Are you…"– there was the briefest hesitation and then he continued – "... ready for this?"

Barnstein knew about Hardy's health issues ever since Hardy's Chief Liz MacMillan had told him his main prosecution witness might not be available for the trial. Probably suffering a cardiac arrest after the plea hearing had been a dead give-away as well.

Hardy scoffed at his own sarcasm. He raised his gaze to look Barnstein straight in the eye. Standing tall and faced with the inevitable, he found the strength he needed.

"Yes," he stated firmly.

"Good. Because you'll need to give it your best. The defense barrister is playing hard," Barnstein informed them with a frown.

Hardy had the sneaking suspicion whatever had transpired so far hadn't been pretty. He recalled a tearful Cate being led away by a red-faced Ricky after her testimony.

"One word of caution. If at any point while you're in the stand, you shouldn't feel well or think your statement might be compromised due to your medical condition, you _must_ speak up," Barnstein urged him.

Hardy rolled his eyes. He had no intention of dragging out his health in front of everyone.

"I'm dead serious, DI Hardy. I know you're extremely private about your heart problem, and I respect that, but you _cann_ _ot_ jeopardize the quality of your testimony because your ticker isn't playing along. It is acceptable to take a break and restart once you're feeling better. Can I rely on you in that respect?"

Barnstein glared at him until Hardy finally nodded. Relief played over Barnstein's face.

"All right. I'll see you inside then," the CPS prosecutor said and left Hardy to resume his restless pacing.

"He's right, Alec," Baxter commented quietly. He hadn't moved from his spot on the bench. "I can't back you up in there. Please be reasonable and don't try to be a hero. If you can't think straight because your brain isn't getting enough blood pumped into it, you shouldn't be up there."

Hardy sighed and plopped down next to his boss and friend. "I'm not an idiot, Ed. I know how to handle myself."

"Do you?" Baxter questioned with his eyebrow raised.

Hardy snorted and was about to bark back a reply when the court usher called his name. Baxter squeezed his shoulder and gave him an encouraging nod. Hardy stood and followed the court official through the big double doors behind which Lee Ashworth's fate as well as his own was going to be decided.

* * *

The bible in his right hand, Hardy said the words he'd said so many times before he didn't need the card they'd given him. "I swear by almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Detective Inspector 731, Alec Hardy, attached to South Mercia Police Constabulary, CID."

He handed back the heavy book and faced the twelve people he had to put all his faith in. His hands clasped in front of his legs, Hardy resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. His gaze flicked over to the where members of the public were sitting. Cate and Ricky stared ahead. Marilyn's eyes rested on him. She gave him an almost invisible nod of encouragement. When he looked away from her, he noted Karen White in the audience. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, but his stomach fell.

Barnstein took him swiftly through the expected questions. Hardy testified about the investigation, their proceedings, how they obtained the various statements, and the acquisition of evidence. Barnstein was relying on the pristine documentation Hardy had left behind in case of his untimely demise. Then he finished and it was Anthony Whitlock's turn.

Whitlock was a young defense barrister who had the reputation of taking on any case which could gain him notoriety. Unfortunately, he was as brilliant as attention hungry.

"DI Hardy, you interviewed Claire Ripley, the wife of the defendant, several times. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Ms. Ripley gave an official statement on April 26th, 2012. You were the only officer present. Is that correct?

"That is correct. Ms. Ripley had insisted on me as the sole officer present and she also declined a solicitor."

"In your case documentation – which by the way is very thorough, if I may say so..." Whitlock managed to give the word _"thorough"_ a dirty ring and Hardy was tempted to roll his eyes. "You note you found inconsistencies within the defendant's statements about what happened on the evening of April 14th, 2012. Can you confirm that?"

"Yes." Hardy anticipated the next question and cringed inwardly. He didn't dare looking at the jury.

"The inconsistency you were mentioning was about what fact, DI Hardy?"

Hardy suppressed a sigh and his fingers twitched. "Ms. Ripley and Mr. Ashworth did not agree upon what they had for dinner that evening."

"So, the only thing they differed was if they had chicken or steak for supper? Do you remember in detail what you had for supper three days ago, DI Hardy?"

Sadly enough, Hardy did. The variety of his food choices had been limited due to his heart condition and his poor cooking skills. "Yes. I do remember. If you want I can give you a rundown of all my meals this past week."

"DI Hardy, watch the sarcasm," the judge chastised him. Hardy ducked his head and mumbled, "Yes, my lord."

Hardy thought he caught a smirk on Whitlock's face, but when he addressed him again, his expression was all neutral.

"In the statement from April 26th, 2012, Ms. Ripley notes she was home all evening with her husband, the defendant. Does this match your recollection?"

Hardy was getting an inkling what Whitlock was going for. "Yes." He was tempted to add she later amended her words, but he knew better than to do so.

"On May 2nd, 2012, Ms. Ripley changed her statement. She said she had gone out with a friend and was out all night. To clarify, according to the transcripts, she left the house around 6:30 P.M. and did not return to her home until 5 or 6 A.M. the following morning. Is that correct?"

Hardy tried to read Whitlock's expression, but couldn't get a sense for him. Maybe he was getting rusty, considering for how long he hadn't interrogated somewhat. He blinked away the self-pity and focused on matters at hand.

"Yes," he replied with slight trepidation. There had to be a catch in Whitlock's cross examination.

"DI Hardy, what made Ms. Ripley change her statement?" Whitlock cocked his head and looked at him innocently. The penny dropped. He was going to accuse Hardy of coercing her into testifying.

"I would think you should ask her that question. She did not explain herself to me," Hardy answered carefully. A flutter in his chest made it harder to focus. He was getting tired. His fingers dug into his palms.

"Isn't it true that you promised to protect her if she testified against her husband?"

"No. What I said was that if she feels unsafe, the police will be able to offer her protection."

"Is that so, DI Hardy?" Whitlock gestured the clerk to hand Hardy a print out. It was a transcript of the interview he had done with Claire when he had nearly collapsed at the end. Hardy's heart jumped and he winced. Barnstein moved in his seat, glaring at him.

"In your jury packet, you will find a transcript of an interview DI Hardy conducted by himself with Ms. Ripley on April 27th, 2012. If you would turn to page 68, please." He dramatically turned to face Hardy. "DI, Hardy, could you please read line seventeen for us."

Hardy squinted at the print out. His vision was fuzzy but good enough to decipher the letters. He read outloud, "DI Hardy: Claire, if you don't tell me what happened that night, I won't be able to protect you."

"Wouldn't you say this is proposing a deal to your witness, DI Hardy?"

Hardy stayed silent. He remembered those words and how he had been worried back then it might be interpreted as witness coercion.

"DI Hardy, answer the question please," the judge reminded him.

"Ms. Ripley came to me that day afraid of her husband. If you look at the earlier part of the transcript, you will see that she shared her husband, Mr. Ashworth, was upset with her about the inconsistencies in the previous statements. Based upon earlier encounters with Ms. Ripley, I offered her police shelter if she was concerned for her safety. The quoted line was reiteration of what had been said before."

He took in a deep breath and held on tightly to the rim of the wooden wall of the stand. Barnstein was watching him like a hawk, so tense he nearly jumped off his chair.

"Can you read line 21 please, DI Hardy," Whitlock demanded.

The room spun slowly around Hardy, but he was able to focus on the print out.

"DI Hardy (shouting): Horseshit. Stop playing games with me. Why did you come, if not to talk about it? Just to fuck with me?" Hardy dropped the paper from his trembling hands. It sailed to the floor tiles in front of the stand. He dug out his last bit of strength not to follow the sheet to the ground.

"Is this the kind of language you use with your witnesses, DI Hardy?" Whitlock asked, his eyebrow raised.

Hardy shook his head, unable to speak. Barnstein's face was red, ready to explode.

"You intimidated Ms. Ripley to testify against her husband, didn't you, DI Hardy?"

"I did no such thing," Hardy rasped. It was a poor comeback, but what else was he to say.

"There were five days in between this interview and the day Ms. Ripley changed her statement. Did you see her at all during that time?"

"Yes. She approached me in the park across from the police station and I visited her at her workplace. When I saw her in the park, her arms were bruised. She stated her husband had tried to hold her back from leaving the house. I -"

"Did she press charges against her husband?" Whitlock interrupted him.

"No. I recommended it, but she was too afraid. I once again offered her protection, if she was worried for her safety." Hardy omitted that it was then when Claire had told him about Ashworth's whereabouts which had led to his arrest.

"DI Hardy, where were you when the defendant was arrested?"

 _Bollocks._ Ashworth must have shared with his barrister that he suspected Claire had ratted him out.

"At the police station. I had sent DS Henchard and DS Thompson to apprehend Ashworth."

"Interesting. From DS Henchard's report one can surmise it was you who instructed them where to find the defendant. If you were at the station, how did you know?"

Hardy cleared his throat and resisted the temptation to loosen his tie. Sweat pooled over his brows.

"Maybe you knew because you actually were _not_ at the station at the time, but conspiring with Ms. Ripley in the park. CCTV of the police station shows you leave and not return until after you sent DS Henchard a text message with instructions where to find the defendant, Mr. Ashworth." Whitlock turned to the jury. "This raises the question of not only witness intimidation but also colluding with said witness."

Barnstein had finally had enough. He rose, proverbial steam rising from his wig. "My Lord, DI Hardy was merely conducting his investigation and obtaining information from a witness. These allegations are speculation and unfounded."

The judge put on a pensive face. He glanced briefly at Hardy who was barely able to stand. He was the same judge who had heard the plea entry and very well knew what had happened after.

"I agree with the prosecution, Mr. Whitlock. Please stick to the facts and refrain from speculation."

Whitlock hid his annoyance with a submissive nod.

"Do you have any further questions for DI Hardy?" the judge asked, not letting Hardy out of his sight.

"No. Not for now, my lord," Whitlock said and took his seat.

"Mr. Barnstein. Do you wish to re-examine the witness?"

"Not at this point, my lord," Barnstein replied with a worried look at Hardy.

"You may leave the stand, DI Hardy. You are to remain outside of court until it is determined if your further testimony is needed."

"Thank you, my lord," Hardy muttered. He had a hard time not to trip over his own feet. He made it out the door where Baxter rushed toward him as soon as he spotted him.

"Bloody hell, Alec. You look like shit. You didn't -"

"No. I didn't pass out. I think you would have noted the commotion if that had been the case." His legs gave out and Baxter dragged him to the next bench.

"You should have told them," Baxter chided him while handing him some water to wash down his pills.

Hardy snorted.

"I assume they want you back at some point as you got sent outside again?" Baxter questioned.

"Aye." Hardy raised his eyes and found Baxter's. "I am sure Whitlock will go after the pendant," he said with a quiver in his voice. Baxter squeezed his shoulder.

"We knew that would happen, and we all are as prepared as we can be," Baxter stated encouragingly.

Hardy leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Karen White was in there," he sighed.

"Oh." Baxter paused and Hardy peeked through his slitted eyelids. His friend intently stared at his nails and continued, "Not unexpected either. I'll deal with her. You worry about nothing else but keeping yourself upright. Do you hear me?"

Hardy hummed in agreement. Easier said than done. His stupid heart had been well behaved since New Year's but as soon as he'd taken the stand, it remembered it was afflicted by a deathly arrhythmia.

"Court's almost done for the day. Let me take you to my house and feed you dinner," Baxter suggested and pulled Hardy up.

Hardy's lips twitched into a small smile. One could always count on Baxter for two things – food and pragmatism. Groaning, he clambered to his feet and let himself be taken to a happier place where he could forget about rivers and dead children for a few moments.

* * *

Tess called him that night. The ringing had startled him, and he wasn't in the best shape when he grunted "What?" into the phone.

"Seriously, Alec? Can't you be at least civil with me?" Tess groused.

He sat up, his hand fisted into his shirt above his heart. "You woke me, Tess," he replied.

"It's not that late, Alec. How would I have -"

"You woke and startled me," he added as explanation.

There was silence on the other end. By the time she spoke again, his heart had settled down.

"I'm sorry, Alec. I didn't even think about it." Her concerned undertone irked him as it always did these days.

"Why did you ring?" he sighed, rubbing his fingers over his sleep-deprived eyes. Pippa's ghost hadn't let him find any rest since the trial had started.

"Cate Gillespie called me in tears. She said the defense barrister took you apart in court today. She is worried Ashworth will get off."

"Tess, you haven't given evidence yet. You can't talk to her and I can't talk to you. If the defense finds out about this, they could have you excluded as a witness," Hardy lectured his ex-wife.

"Maybe that wouldn't be the worst," she mumbled.

"What? Why would you say that?" His voice echoed his disbelief.

"Then I won't have to perjure myself when they will ask me about the pendant."

Hardy tugged at his tie and ripped it off. "Tess, they won't ask you, they will ask me. Whitlock already went after me today. He's working on his story how to discredit my work and whatever evidence we have."

"But I had it and then it got lost. Of course, they are going to question me what the fuck happened there," she exclaimed, getting more agitated.

Hardy cringed. She needed to keep her calm if the story they had so painstakingly upheld over the last nine months was going to fly in court.

"You will say exactly what it states in the record. You found the pendant, you notified me. Then you stopped on the way and the pendant was left in _my_ car where it was stolen from."

"And what if they ask me why I stopped?" she whispered.

Hardy squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back. "We went through this. I had asked you to meet at the hotel to get the car from you. You parked the car, I stayed for a drink. Dave picked you up and brought you to the station. CCTV from the hotel and constabulary confirm that part."

They had been unbelievably lucky that the area where Tess had parked the car hadn't been captured by surveillance cameras. Or unbelievably unlucky, depending on the priorities.

"Won't they ask why I didn't tell you the evidence was in the car?" They had been arguing over this point the most because it was what would pin the blame on someone. Baxter had insisted on Tess having forgotten to tell Hardy she had left the evidence in there; Hardy had insisted on having been told in passing without paying attention to what his wife was saying. Hardy won the battle.

"And what will you tell them as an answer?" he questioned her in reply.

"I told you, but you might not have heard it as you seemed inattentive to what I had to say," she reiterated what they had agreed upon. She sounded defiant which surprised Hardy. She had willingly gone along with his plan. Granted, part of the plan had been that he would never make it to the trial.

His fingers scratched the day-old stubble on his chin. "Tess, he will go after me. For sure. I took the responsibility and all the public blame. I'm the easiest target. I can live with it. I've got nothing left to protect. MacMillan won't let me do a real job until I get the pacemaker. And I really don't give a shit about being Rebecca Irvine's stupid sidekick who does the paperwork for her." His disgust and anger was apparent. So was the self-loath. "And maybe this bloody trial will finish what should have been done and over with months ago," he ended with scathing sarcasm.

"Alec, how can you say that?" she cried out.

Hardy remained mute. He hated the joke his life had become and clearly plan B hadn't worked out very well for him. On cue, he heard Dave's voice calling Tess' name in the background.

"You have to ask me that?" he spat.

She huffed, but then continued with a softer voice, "Do you want to talk to Daisy?"

"Does she want to talk to me?" he countered. He had seen her a handful times since the New Year and with every meeting their interactions had become more and more distant and awkward. She barely replied to his messages and she had stood him up for their last lunch. He never got a reason why, let alone an apology.

"I could try and -"

"No. Don't. If she doesn't want to talk to me, it's her choice. I can't force it. She's still mad at me for not letting her live with me," Hardy said with a hollow voice.

"Maybe you could do something together on the weekend?" Tess suggested half-heartedly.

Hardy was too tired to pretend. "Tess, please, let it go. I don't think I'll be in the greatest shape to do something then. I haven't slept in a week and my heart's acting up. I barely made it through the cross-examination today and who knows what will happen when they start asking about the pendant. I don't want to disappoint her and be unable to come."

"Maybe you should finally tell her about your condition?" There was enough unspoken accusation in her tone to set him off.

"Oh, right. And maybe you should finally tell her how long Dave _really_ has been your _friend_ ," he snarled at her.

She made a hissing noise and replied coldly, "I think I'm going to end this conversation now."

"Fine."

He had better things to do than listen to his ex-wife's whining. Such as staring at the wall and waiting for his heart to give out on him. She hung up, and he tossed the phone onto the sofa. He fucking hated his life. And he had only himself to blame. He slumped back onto the pillow. Angry tears turned into desperate ones until he had cried himself to sleep.


End file.
